A Stroke of Genius
by BeyondTheHorizonIsHope
Summary: Out of love for his daughter, Tony Stark stopped trying to change the past. Out of love for her father, Morgan Stark returned to that past. Out of love for her, Stephen Strange made a time altering decision. 14,000,605 possibilities, but only one victory, which threatens to break time itself, because what limits are there to what people would do for love? Snap AU. No Endgame.
1. Prologue

Hello all! I'd like to welcome you to my silly little MCU story. For those of you who have been reading my other work, you know I mentioned that the MCU was pretty much taking over my life, and here are the fruits of that labor.

Just a quick note. I'm not a scientist. I couldn't tell you anything about time theories or advanced trigonometry. I CAN tell you about the pythagorean theorem, but I doubt that's going to come into play in this story. The point is, I can use the words to make myself sound intelligent in that regard, but I'm not going for super accuracy here. This story stars a wizard after all.

Also, I don't know if all the Avengers are going to have a big role in this story. This idea, while sounding large, is a personal, family oriented story focusing on love and loss, as well as an exploration of a world after Thanos. But they all should appear at some point or another.

 **PLEASE READ:** Regardless of their state in Endgame, Pepper and Nathaniel Barton survived the snap in this story.

Anywho, enough blabbering. Enjoy!

* * *

 _Across the ages  
_ _Every living soul comes to know the same truths:  
_ _Pain is inescapable  
_ _Loss is inevitable  
_ _But love makes all things bearable_

* * *

 **Prologue**

 _Avengers Tower  
_ _Eight years after the Decimation_

"Dad, why is the sky blue?"

"Because molecules in the air scatter blue light waves from the sun."

"But the sun isn't blue."

"And you should be grateful for that, because if it was, we'd all be burnt to a crisp. Actually, we wouldn't exist at all. The conditions to form the Earth wouldn't have been up to snuff, and even if it somehow happened, the atmosphere would have practically evaporated, exposing us to dangerous amounts of radiation and-"

Tony turned around to a tiny form seated on a stool. Red hair in pigtails, shoes half tied, and bandages on her knees, Morgan was the perfect picture of a typical young and boisterous child. She even swung her legs in the air like she was glued to the seat and needed the momentum to achieve freedom. Her blue eyes had taken to roaming the workshop, interest in his rambling long gone.

"You know what, ask your mother."

Morgan's gaze found its way back to him. "Mom says that can't be your answer to everything."

Tony turned back to his work. "Yeah, well, she doesn't like my other answers either."

With a wave of his hand, the various equations and charts that were projected disappeared, revealing a new set that, to the untrained eye, looked like a continuation of the technobabble he'd just had up. But this was a completely unrelated segment.

What was it Clint had said? He stopped paying attention once they added letters?

Snorting, Tony proceeded to expand a certain segment of the equation. It was supposed to measure the speed of time in relation to an external point. If he could physically step out of time at that very moment and look at the time line as an actual object versus an abstract theory, how fast would it be moving? Would he perceive each moment as he did now, or would it be faster? Slower? Would he have to throw himself back in and hope for the best or could he possess the ability to manipulate the temporal construct?

This was getting ridiculous, but every path he took led to the same thing: theories so impossibly obscure that it was pure science fiction. Worse, science fantasy. Star Wars, not Star Trek. He'd be better off discovering the Force than an actual, stable scientific method to go back and fix everything.

But he had to go back. They had no choice. None of this was supposed to happen.

 _There was no other way._

Why would Stephen Strange save him if not for this?

"If the sun was blue, would the sky be yellow?"

He minimized the projection. "What?"

"Well, the sky is blue now, and the sun is yellow, so if the sun was blue, wouldn't they switch?"

"No, that…no, that's not how it works," Tony replied, opening another screen. Images of a machine appeared, simple in nature, a half-formed idea really. The lines had been scrapped and redrawn multiple times, and even now there were more than a few question marks surrounding the design details. This was nowhere near the final product, or even a prototype.

"Why not?"

"Because a blue sun is too hot," he continued, writing notes about a stress test needed for the materials he'd gathered. The kind of heat this thing was going to put out would have made NASA nervous, had they still existed.

"It would evaporate the atmosphere," he said, waving his arm behind him in what he thought was her general direction. "There wouldn't be any sky. Just the ground and space."

"But that doesn't make sense."

"Not everything has to make sense, sweetheart."

Like how his daughter even got into the lab. She should have been in school by now. Wasn't like she had to go far. They had a private facility near the ground floor of the tower.

Being a self-powered structure, it had been one of the few places unaffected by the grid failures. People had flocked over, and Pepper had let them all in. Some stayed. Most of the businesses inside no longer existed, so they turned into homes, and suddenly Avengers Tower had its own little community.

He couldn't name a single resident, but that was what FRIDAY was for.

Friday. Yesterday was Friday.

So today was Saturday.

No school Saturdays. Some things were still the same.

"That's what people say when they don't want to tell you," Morgan argued.

"Yeah, you're right about that."

He waited, bracing for another round of questions.

Silence. Good. Just what he needed. Now he could work on that differential equa-

"Is the ocean blue because of the sky or the sun?"

Tony whirled around, locking eyes with his daughter. "Do all kids come preloaded with annoying questions, or is it just you?"

 _Shit_.

Morgan jumped, as if physically smacked by the words, and her eyes opened wide. He would have ventured to say comically so if it weren't for the sadness that immediately followed. Her blue eyes darkened as her lip began to tremble.

 _Shit. Shit. Shit._

"Morgan, honey, I didn't-"

But the damage was done.

His daughter leapt off the stool and bolted across the lab, making a beeline for the elevators. She moved faster than he thought she could have, barely giving him time to react, and definitely not enough time to catch her as the doors to the lift opened wide.

"FRIDAY, stop the elevator!" Tony shouted as he jogged across the room. He just caught the sound of her sniffing as the doors closed shut. He slammed against them, pounding the metal and pushing on the control panel like it would change anything. "FRIDAY, stop the elevator. Bring it back. Bring it back!"

He punched the door one last time as he heard the sounds of the elevator car grow distant. Morgan was heading up, to their home, to her mother.

"I'm sorry, boss," FRIDAY's voice chimed from overhead, programming almost making her sound sympathetic. "But I don't believe Miss Morgan would like that."

Tony leaned against the wall beside the elevator, running his hands over his face.

"Since when do you take her side over mine?" he asked, voice calming but still very much on edge.

"Since Miss Potts told me to."

* * *

Tony gave himself a few minutes to cool down before he wandered upstairs in search of his wayward daughter.

The elevator brought him to the main Avengers floor. It had been destroyed several times in the past, so the build had begun to look different year after year, and after half the world disappeared, every inch of the place had been covered in people, talking, crying, covered in blankets he didn't know they had kind of people. He hadn't recognized the space for months, but the layout had slowly come back to him. There was the entertainment section with the bar, while further down the hallway were more homey rooms, like bathrooms and the kitchen.

Clint was currently occupying the latter. Sitting on the island, he had an orange clutched between his hands and a look on his face that said Tony should have been grateful that he wasn't currently armed.

"From the glare I'm currently receiving, I take it my daughter has been through here," Tony said, sounding as casual as he could given the situation.

The archer nodded once. "You screwed up."

"Yeah, I know."

"Do you?" Clint asked, jumping down. He didn't move as well as he used to, even had a limp, but Tony knew he could still have his ass on the ground in seconds. "Or is this one of those temporary apologies you're so well known for? Cause I tell you what, Tony, I don't wanna see that girl of yours crying again because her father can't get his shit together."

Tony opened his mouth, one of his trademark comebacks right there on this tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself. Clint was right – he usually was, but he wasn't about to admit that – and if he said anything to the contrary, not only was he actually going to get his ass kicked, he was going to deserve it.

So, he walked away.

There were stairs in the back that led to upstairs bedrooms. It was where the Avengers had lived after the New York incident, from time to time that was. Thor had his whole other realm thing going on, and Steve was out doing his captaining all across the country, but somehow the group wound up all together more often than not.

Nowadays, it was just Clint, and occasionally Natasha. Rhodey was currently serving as the Secretary of Defense in Washington, Thor had taken what remained of his people and relocated them to Norway before disappearing back into space, Bruce had stayed in Wakanda for unspecified reasons, and no one had seen Steve in years. There were rumors, but for the most part, the man was a ghost.

The last door on the left, that was where he and Pepper lived. Morgan took the room across from them – it was currently several horrendous shades of pink – though she usually wound up in their room most nights, either because he was out working late or she'd had another bad dream.

Their daughter had a lot of those.

She wasn't alone, that was for sure.

Sure enough, Pepper was lying on their bed with Morgan tucked under her arm. They were looking at a tablet together, the screen lighting up their faces. She'd probably been working on development plans – Pepper Potts had become the poster girl for rebuilding society – but she had undoubtedly tossed it all aside as soon as Morgan came running in. All of their daughter's favorite movies were on that thing. He bet they were watching Alice in Wonderland.

For a moment, neither noticed him, so Tony took a second to lean against the doorway and just watch them.

He blamed the Extremis for their daughter turning out to be a redhead just like her mother, making Pepper's genes utterly unstoppable. Not that he minded, of course. Morgan was better off looking like her. She was better off being like her in every possible way, yet Pepper insisted their daughter was more like him than he could see. Maybe he just didn't want to see it; maybe it scared the hell out of him. He knew how much of a wreck he was, even before Thanos arrived.

Pepper had to ruin the moment by looking over. Her eyes narrowed and what little courage that had followed him out of the lab fled at the sight.

Still, he took a reluctant step inside.

"May I speak with her?"

Morgan didn't move, though he knew she heard him. She was choosing to focus on the movie.

"Your father's come to apologize," Pepper spoke, gently shaking their daughter's shoulder. "Should we let him?"

An eternity passed, and then Morgan nodded.

Pepper sighed, wiggling out of her grip, leaving Morgan propped up on the pillows, eyes still glued to the tablet. She walked over to him, placing a hand on his chest before he could step further into the room.

"All she wants to do is be with you, Tony," Pepper hissed, glancing back at the bed. "And at this point, I don't know why. You seem to be doing everything in your power to be the worst father."

Yeah, he would know a thing or two about how to do that.

"I know," he replied. "I…I know."

"Do you?"

She was starting to sound like Clint. Those two probably spent more time together than he did with her.

That thought was leading somewhere he didn't like.

"I always do," he said, stepping around her. Tony Stark had always been good at knowing things. Acting on them was something entirely different.

Kneeling beside the bed, Tony watched as his daughter continued to ignore him.

"Can we talk?"

Morgan blinked, but otherwise didn't move as she stared the screen before her. He watched the colors on her skin rapidly change as the movie went through one of its weirder parts, not that the whole thing wasn't one big acid trip.

"Do you mind putting that down? Maybe pausing the movie?"

Nothing.

"Fair enough," Tony said, giving up as he got comfortable on the floor. "You know, I guess I never really told you what I've been working on all these years. This, uh, little project of mine predates even you, though not by much.

"See, the world is…a lot different than it used to be, and I know that you know that, but we never told you that we were at the center of it."

He saw her eyes flick over in his direction. The colors stopped moving; the movie must have been paused.

"The Avengers, we had a chance to stop it, and we screwed up pretty badly. I screwed up pretty badly, and because of that, people died. So, for all these years, I've been trying to fix that. All that crazy math stuff I've been working on, it's a way to go back and undo everything."

Morgan put the tablet down and sat up, never taking her eyes off of him. Tony could see her thinking, piecing together everything he had told her. She was a smart kid, smarter than the others her age; she'd probably end up in advanced classes in no time.

Pepper was right. She was just like him.

"If you go back and fix everything, does that mean I won't happen?"

Something broke inside of him, and in an instant, Tony had scooped his daughter up in his arms, holding her tightly, as if someone had come to take her from him at that very moment.

"No. No no no no no," he murmured over and over again, burying his head into her shoulder. He felt her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. "That's not going to happen, Morgan, okay? That's never going to happen."

He stood up, groaning as he sat them both down on the bed.

God, when had she gotten so big? She used to barely fit in his arms, and now he was threatening to throw out his back just by lifting her. Had he really missed so much?

"How do you know?"

Tony glanced up over his daughter's head to see Pepper holding a hand over her mouth. She was barely keeping it together.

"You were always going to happen, kid, alright?" Tony asked, holding Morgan back so she could look at him. She wasn't crying, and seemed oddly calm for a kid talking about the erasure of her existence. "You existed before all the bad stuff went down, and no matter what I do, you will always exist, I promise."

"And other people will exist too?"

"A lot of other people," he replied with a nod. "Like Nathaniel's brother and sister, and his mom."

"So Uncle Clint won't be lonely."

"Exactly," Tony said, not sure how much he liked the archer being called 'uncle.' "And so many other people. There's this kid named Peter. You'd, uh…you'd like him. He likes all the same stupid movies that you do."

Morgan stuck her tongue out at him. "They aren't stupid."

"Sure they aren't." Tony pulled her back in again, missing holding her. He never held her enough. "Look, kid, I haven't been the best, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for a lot of things, including everything I forgot, and I know your mother will tell me all about those soon enough.

"There is nothing in this world that I want more than you; there will never be anything in this world that I want more than you, and as long as you need me, I'll be here."

* * *

 _The Sanctum Sanctorum  
2018_

She stood at the bottom of the staircase, wringing her hands, watching the gateway that Stephen had conjured in the entryway. She knew who he was talking to on the other side, could hear their voices, but his cloak was blocking the view. Two steps to the side, and she would be able to see them clearly, but her feet were frozen in place, heavy as concrete and just as willing to move.

All this time, and she just wasn't ready.

Wong placed his hand on her shoulder. "Don't forget to breathe."

She giggled. It wasn't funny at all. In fact, it was solid advice, because she had most certainly forgotten to breathe, but her nerves were so wound up that all of her reactions were not only guaranteed to be wrong, but entirely inappropriate to the situation.

The sorcerer, however, seemed to understand her entirely, and squeezed her shoulder before stepping aside.

Stephen turned around, stepping back into the Sanctum. His eyes found hers immediately, watching her as he walked inside. She felt his arm brush against hers, but couldn't bring herself to look at him.

"You going to be alright?" she heard him whisper. He was leaning close, back to the portal he'd conjured.

She thought she said 'no,' but couldn't remember moving her mouth.

Bruce had already stepped back through the gateway, but Tony was saying a quick, last goodbye to Pepper. She looked to be arguing, and he was desperately apologizing, kissing her quickly before stepping over the threshold.

The gateway closed before Pepper could get another word in.

Tony looked at the space where it had once been, no longer a park in his view, but double doors instead.

"Well that's a…thing."

Then he looked at her.

Time froze.

It was him; it was Tony Stark. He looked so much younger than any of her memories of him; he looked happier, healthier, practically stress-free next to the man she had called her father. She could see him lining up another crack, his classic antagonizing humor that everyone hated, but secretly appreciated, because if he wasn't doing it, then something was completely wrong.

She missed that; she missed him.

"So," he started, "are you supposed to be the Hermione of this get up, or are you more of a Weasley? You know with the…red hair and all."

 _I'm your daughter._

 _I'm the greatest thing that happened to you._

 _I'm the only one who can stop this._

 _I'm-_

She felt Stephen squeeze her hand.

"No sorcery here," she said, feeling the fake smile stretch across her face.

"I'm just Morgan."

* * *

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! And please please please let me know if any of the canon characters are ever off. It is my goal first and foremost to give the story an accurate portrayal of the canon characters.

Thanks again!


	2. Morgan

Oh my goodness, the response to this story has been overwhelming. I humbly thank you for taking in this crazy idea of mine, and hope that my following chapters can live up to it.

So, for those of you who don't know, I like to make flashforward prologues, so the following chapters will lead up to that moment. Don't worry, we'll still see more of Dad!Tony. I know people like that.

Also, I'd like to apologize for how long this took. Unlike my other stories, I really have to take my time with this one. I don't want to say my plot is intricate, but it's certainly more than I'm used to, so I want to make sure everything is perfect for you.

Anyway, on to the official first chapter.

* * *

 _In the moments following Thanos' victory, half the world's population disappeared, but that was not the end of the chaos he created._

 _The immediate aftermath saw tens of thousands of accidents, and victims trapped with no hope of help arriving. Patients died on operating tables when their doctors vanished, planes fell from the sky, and fires burned out of control. Within days, power grids failed and other essential systems reached critical levels. What remained of the United States government managed to gather the engineers needed to continue running the nuclear power plants._

 _Other countries were not as fortunate._

 _Weeks passed, and only then could the damage even begin to be assessed._

 _The Decimation, as it came to be known, did not take its victims strategically. It truly was a random event, leaving some cities intact while others became ghost towns overnight. The top leadership of seventy-eight nations quietly vanished with the chaos, leaving some disjointed and on the brink of civil catastrophe, while others scrambled to find who was left in the line of succession._

 _As it was, the Secretary of State, Thaddeus Ross, became the forty-sixth president of the United States. He was sworn in at an underground bunker miles from Washington D.C. by his personal secretary, while he waited for word on his daughter._

 _Betty Ross was never found._

 _As time passed, the focus of the nation shifted drastically. Technological innovation was set aside for more immediate concerns, such as avoiding starvation. The nation witnessed a mass migration from once populous metropolitan areas to rural communities as numerous people answered the call for help in the agricultural sector. It was an opportunity for stability, and a chance to keep food on the table for a discounted price. Others rushed to the medical field, skipping years of schooling to be rapidly educated by what doctors remained. Teachers eventually found a boom in their population as well._

 _The United States withdrew from all foreign soil, activated the draft, and ramped up border security. It would remain that way for another two decades._

 _City infrastructure began to crumble. Entire sectors were left uninhabited and allowed to deteriorate. It took thirty years for the government to begin reclaiming them, and by then, most had to be demolished._

 _Several animal species were suddenly endangered, as they too were not immune to the Decimation, while others could no longer maintain a viable breeding population._

 _Ships washed ashore, their crews lost to the Decimation or the sea._

 _Priceless art was left abandoned._

 _Languages were lost._

 _Entire countries went silent._

 _The list of what Thanos truly did to us is endless._

 _This is the world I grew up in._

 _This is the only life I know._

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Morgan

She had expected pain, excruciating, unbearable pain, but there was nothing in existence that could prepare her for how it would actually feel. Every part of her body was on fire as she was literally torn apart, cell by cell, atom by atom. When she had started, Morgan had uselessly put on a brave face that crumbled into dust as she screamed in agony, until her mouth disappeared and everything fell silent.

Cold. There was only the cold and the darkness and the sensation of floating aimlessly.

And somehow her consciousness existed long enough to wonder if this was eternity.

Sound returned to her first, a droning buzz with no distinction that slowly grew into humming engines, shouts, and car horns. Disjointed conversations floated around her head, their words meaning nothing to her, yet sounding familiar all the same.

Then she gasped.

Morgan coughed and sputtered and rolled around on whatever she had landed on, pain still rippling through her body. She felt herself spasm, shaking without control, and desperately wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt to hold her body together lest it collapse into dust again.

' _Morgan.'_ called a voice in her head.

No, her ear.

Something was in her ear.

' _Morgan, get a hold of yourself. Your vitals are out of control. Take deep breaths. Slowly.'_

Breathing? How did she breathe? What did she have to do? How…how…

' _Get it together, kid. You know how this works.'_

She took a breath and another, again and again until her body calmed and her mind fell quiet.

Her eyes opened slowly. The world was bright and shapeless. Then color returned to her vision, forming blurry blobs in the distance until the lines became stark against one another. There was pavement, trash, a wall. It was nothing significant, and a far cry from where she had been. They had all wondered where she might wind up, and with no definitive answer, planned for all scenarios. This seemed like one of the better ones.

Her hand lay on the ground in front of her, motionless and uncovered. Morgan watched as black dots began to crawl across the surface of her skin, forming a protective layer that began to resemble the sleeve of a suit.

Nanotechnology.

Time travel.

She had a purpose here.

Morgan sat up with a groan, her muscles shaky, but slowly remembering their strength. She placed a hand to her forehead, cool against the sweat that had already accumulated, willing away the pain that wracked her skull.

' _There you go.'_

DAVE. The AI her father had gifted to her after he passed. It was housed in small units that sat behind her ears. While the voice was deeper and had less of an edge to it, the mannerisms were clearly modeled after Tony Stark.

He had found a way to come with after all.

"Where am I?" she asked, startled by the sound of her own voice. Had it always sounded like that? Was it deeper now? Did something change?

 _Stop overthinking it_ , she told herself.

Her mind continued to overthink just to spite itself.

' _Dingy back alley of a classy establishment. Welcome to the past. Enjoy your stay.'_

Morgan groaned. "DAVE…"

' _Sensor drones indicate Manhattan. Upper East Side. Just off First Avenue.'_

That wasn't far from Stark Tower, from what she recalled. They'd gone over the area extensively before she left, putting various plans into place depending on where she ended up, in a crowd, underground, somewhere within the Hudson or East Rivers. Given how poorly she'd reacted to reentry, Morgan was lucky none of those plans had to be put into play.

Reentry. She'd done it; she was in the past.

And it was _loud._

Grabbing the dumpster that she had wound up next to, Morgan slowly pulled herself up, sliding her back up the wall behind her, putting as little strain on her legs as possible until the shaking slowed. She took a deep breath when she made it all the way up, bending over and putting her hands on her knees.

Growing up, she had always been active, a ball of energy that no one could keep up with. Uncle Clint had claimed she would be the death of him one day, or at least his back. To feel so weak and unsteady, it was new territory for her. This all was.

"Performance?"

' _Running at around seventy percent efficiency. No bugs from the crossover detected yet, but you might want to get some actual clothes just in case. Birthday suits go down about as well in the past as they do back home.'_

Morgan watched the suit around her shift. Where it was once form fitting, individual pieces began to take shape. Work boots, worn jeans, a green shirt, and gray jacket, her typical, comfortable attire in the field. It was the perfect blending of advanced Stark and Wakandan technology, with a little extra flair courtesy of Shuri. The world had ended for some, but for others, science still prevailed.

"I can't just go around stealing clothes."

' _We went over this. A little nudge here or there isn't going to throw the universe into chaos. Just don't go around murdering anyone.'_

There was a least one being out there she'd like to murder.

Morgan took a step away from the wall, and immediately fell back. She tried again, and stumbled forward awkwardly until her hands caught the wall on the other side of the alley. Taking a deep breath, Morgan steeled herself and stepped away once more, keeping a steady but fast pace forward. Though she swayed with every step, her path far from straight, her legs began to remember themselves, and grew more confident as she gained ground.

Then she turned the corner into the street and nearly fell over again.

People.

There were so many _people_.

Dozens passed her by in an instant, walking, jogging, some riding on skateboards and casually pushing others out of the way with a shout. They talked and shouted and sang in all sorts of languages, completely oblivious to both her presence and those right beside them.

And in the street, cars ambled along, stopping every now and again, breaks squeaking, music blaring with a beat that shook Morgan to her very core. Bikes swerved in and out between the vehicles, ringing bells and shouting profanity at those who nearly hit them.

A bus drove by.

A plane passed overhead.

Police sirens rang in the distance.

Morgan turned back into the alley, away from it all, and had to take a moment to calm down. She covered her hand with her mouth, to keep herself from saying anything stupid DAVE might overhear, and tried not to cry.

The Manhattan she knew was quieter. Few cars occupied its streets, mostly those of military make. In her youth, gasoline had been in limited supply due to the loss of workers and some oil drills catching fire. What was left went to the military and farmers first, and only those with enough money and influence could drive after that.

Most city blocks were cordoned off, deemed necessary uninhabited areas in order to keep the population safe. Martial law was in place, though there never had been enough personnel to handle everyone. It hadn't mattered though. After the chaos, people had been willing to comply, if only for some semblance of normalcy.

That had never stopped her though. She and Nathaniel would wander for hours amongst the abandoned buildings. They listened to their voices echo off the quiet towers that loomed around them, watched unstable structures as they finally gave in to gravity and plummeted to the earth, and then they would play a game. They would go into homes and guess at the lives the people had led, what they did, who they were, whether they actually loved the person they shared their home with or just pretended. It was wrong, they knew deep down, but it was the life they had been given.

This place though…

This was not her Manhattan.

But it should have been.

' _You okay, Morgan?'_

No. No, she was not.

"I'll be fine," she replied, removing her hand. "It's just…it's…"

' _Something else?'_

"Yeah."

Taking a deep breath, Morgan made the plunge into the street, joining the throng of commuters on the crowded sidewalk. She tried not to gawk at the passersby, but found it increasingly difficult with each new face that she walked by. So many questions ran through her head as she took in each individual.

Did the man in the red shirt survive the Decimation, or would he turn into dust?

The woman in the business suit. Would she be alone when Thanos was done, or would her family survive?

Would the man in the Naval uniform suddenly be in command?

Would the girl still have her parents?

These questions and dozens more like them turned over and over in her mind, an incessant buzz that distracted her from the sounds and sights around her. She nearly walked into traffic twice, and bumped into more than one person, receiving dark looks in reply, and the occasional shouted word. People were angry here, much angrier than she had known them to be growing up, and they hadn't lost nearly as much. It was a strange concept.

She began to wonder if they knew. Locking eyes with a stranger suddenly left her feeling vulnerable, as if they could see all her secrets. They knew her life, her doubts, her struggles, they knew everything and they were judging her.

And it was just so _loud._

Morgan stumbled to the side at the next alley she saw, breathing deeply until her mind cleared again.

' _Quite the experience, isn't it?'_ DAVE chimed in her ear.

"There's just…so much."

' _And that was just the first twenty blocks.'_

When she was younger, she always tried to imagine what New York used to be like. She'd seen the movies and news clips; she'd seen a lot of things projected onto a screen, but that was nothing like experiencing it. There was no pausing the video, no muting the sound. It was either keep going or risk being swallowed whole by the beast that was the city.

It certainly smelled worse than she'd hoped.

Glancing to the side, Morgan caught a glimpse of a building in the distance, and just like that, all her anxiety disappeared. Without thought, she stepped back into the crowd, allowing herself to be pushed and shoved as she stared up at the one thing that still made sense in this place.

Stark Tower.

Or was it still the Avengers Tower?

She kept staring at the building, waiting, wondering if a certain red and gold suit wouldn't come flying across the sky and land on the large balcony outside. But Morgan knew she would be better off without. If she saw her father now, nothing could stop her from trying to speak with him, and that was the last thing she could do. It could destroy everything, and she had only just arrived.

Someone chuckled beside her.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but Iron Man doesn't hang around there anymore."

Morgan turned to the newsstand beside her. An older gentleman sat on a stool, his kind face covered by large sunglasses.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He sold it a few months back. Doesn't stop the tourists from looking though. Think that's why the new owner keeps the flashy 'A' up there."

"Sold it…" Morgan whispered, turning back to the tower. She had grown up in that building, knew the layout by heart. Every turn, every drop, every scratch and dent that Stark Tower received, she knew the story. Her father had spoken about the place like it was something sacred.

And he'd sold it?

"They got some flashy place upstate. Fenced off, fancy military complex. Keeps the paparazzi to a minimum. And boy, do they need it these days."

"Why do they-"

Morgan's question cut off as she skimmed the titles on the various newspapers and magazines the vendor sold. Large, bold print detailed something that she had not planned on, that no one in all their wisdom had decided to tell her.

'CAPTAIN AMERICA STILL AT LARGE'

'AVENGERS NO MORE'

'TONY STARK: GOVERNMENT PAWN?'

'ARE HEROES ILLEGAL? – EVERYTHING YOU NEED ABOUT THE SOKOVIA ACCORDS'

The vendor was still looking at her. "Kid, you need to get out more often."

"Yeah, I guess so," she replied sternly, turning away from him one final time as she strode away from the tower. Her hand curled into her sleeve, feeling the nanites form sunglasses in her palm. "DAVE, tell me what the hell is going on."

* * *

She'd wandered to a park, her frustration at the new situation drowning all sense of curiosity that she had felt upon first exploring the city. Through her sunglasses, Morgan watched DAVE display various articles and videos in the open space before her, filling her in on the events that had happened some months prior to her arrival.

The Sokovia Accords had caused a rift between the Avengers, culminating in a showdown at an airport in Germany. Several members had been arrested – and subsequently escaped from what she could tell – and the rest quietly worked for a subcommittee from the United Nations.

DAVE also uploaded information that was not for public record, things from her father's personal files that had been kept restricted until deemed necessary. She watched him fight Steve Rogers, a man that he had spoken so highly of to her; she watched him fight Clint Barton, the man who shared their home. None of them had brought it up; none of them had ever mentioned anything wrong at any point in her life.

When the world ends, so do the sins of the past.

Except now that she was in that past, it was starting to haunt her.

' _It would have been easy to cover up,'_ DAVE described to her, shutting down all projections, leaving her to look at New York once again. _'We're talking data loss on an incomprehensible scale after the Decimation. No one was interested in old stories. They needed medical files and launch codes.'_

"They should have told me," she mumbled, resting her head on her hand. She sat on one of the park benches, watching people walk casually by, completely unaware of what their future had in store for them. A couple walked by with their daughter. She smiled at Morgan.

' _Your mission isn't impacted by the Sokovia Accords. It would have only served as a distraction.'_

"You're right, it does," Morgan replied, removing her sunglasses. She felt them disappear in her hands, crawling back into the hub located on her wrist; she had one on both of them, as well as her ankles, like bracelets, placed in strategic areas for immediate action if necessary. "We've got bigger problems anyway. The timeframe puts us a year out from the battle in New York. We have to wait, and find something to do in the meantime."

This was something else they had suspected might happen. It was never going to be a simple journey from point A to point B. Time was fluid, and while the past was technically a fixed point, the present steadily moved forward, making the distance back longer and longer. How fast did time travel? That was a question no one was completely certain of. It was all a matter of luck, no matter how many calculations they plugged into the machine.

Winding up some time before Thanos arrived was fortunate, because she could have very well found herself arriving right as everything fell apart.

Still, that left her stranded with knowledge and little else in a time she wasn't entirely certain how to function in.

' _Looks like Starbucks is hiring.'_

"What's Starbucks?"

Just as her AI sounded like it was about to go on a long-winded rant about businesses that existed before she was born, something began to crackle, and she felt a breeze around her ankles.

Morgan looked down to find an orange circle forming around the ground beneath her, sparking like a hoop of fire. For the briefest moment, she thought she saw the interior of a building.

And then she fell.

Not much surprised Morgan anymore. Her life had been a series of bounding into the unknown, paving a way for future generations to have a chance at a more stable existence. She had seen the country go to war with itself, years where food was overflowing followed by food shelf lines that filled city blocks. Something as unpredictable as the world she grew up in meant recovering fast and not letting the strange and sudden changes get to you.

Also, with Tony Stark as a parent, everything was bound to be unusual anyway.

Still, she shrieked in a way that she hadn't since she was a little girl as her body freefell through the ground and onto a couch. She bounced awkwardly off the surface, hearing the wood of the frame crack under the pressure. Morgan grabbed the cushions with both hands to stabilize herself, seconds away from using the nanotech at her disposal, but she reined in the sensation. She had to keep its use to a minimum.

Two men were looking at her. One was dressed simply, like a monk, and was staring her down with a hard gaze, his arms crossed. He looked like a stern parent, and she the kid with her hand in the cookie jar.

And the other man…

She knew him.

Dressed in blue robes adorned by a bright, red cape, Morgan had seen the man before her in her father's files. He'd always labeled the man as 'the uptight wizard,' but there had been a name to go along with it too.

Doctor Stephen Strange.

He took a step forward, cloak billowing around him, and she had to wonder if he always seemed this intimidating or if he had the ability to conjure that.

"I'm going to ask you this one time," he started, looking down at her, judgment threatening to smother her. "What are you doing here?"

Instead of answering, she found her eyes focusing on his chest, where an amulet hung, glowing green.

The Time Stone.

That was it. The key to everything, and it was staring her in the face.

* * *

So, this was a quick intro to Morgan. We'll get deeper into the plot next chapter. Also, yes, Shuri lives!

Until next time! Thank you!


	3. Strange

Oh my goodness, it has been far too long, and I apologize. I want to thank you all for sticking with me here. Know that this story is still with me. I do want to write it still.

Also, Endgame, yeah, that was a thing. I'm not using any rules for anything they established in that movie. Again, Endgame has no place in this story.

Also, apologies if I did not respond to your reviews. I need to get better at this.

Onward!

* * *

 **Chapter Two  
** Strange

 _Avengers Tower  
_ _Post-Decimation_

" _Kid, I never meant to put any of this on you."_

Morgan hadn't been in his lab for years – hell, it had taken her this long to come here after he passed – and she had once thought the same for her father, but clearly that wasn't true. Some of the older equipment was covered in tarps, but his workstation wasn't. Really, she should have known better. Tony Stark was a tinkerer with a stubborn streak, and she'd inherited the trait.

Still, it had been a long time since anyone had used the machine. Morgan wiped thick layers of dust from the surface, and that was how the hologram activated.

The image of her father sighed. Morgan half thought he would have manipulated the imaging to make himself appear younger, but the projection looked much like he had before the end: gray hair that was mostly white – but never say that to his face – deep worry lines, and a heavy reliance on a cane. All his life, he'd used technology to improve his quality of living, but her father _really_ liked that cane. He used to smack people with it, mainly Clint.

" _I wanted to do the impossible, to change history. No one should want to do this, the potential for abuse alone should scrap any idea immediately, but this…this place, this future. Kid, it could be so much better."_

She'd heard that before. It was like a mantra her father spoke every day. He always told her he was making a better future for her, but his mind had been so consumed by the idea that her present was the wrong place that he forgot to help her actual future. Her mother had been the one to change the world, to lead the charge in the effort to restore it to some semblance of civilization. Morgan once thought her mother resented her father for that, but she only seemed to encourage the work.

As pragmatic as Pepper Potts was, she, too, had a side that hoped beyond measure that everything was just a bad dream.

Growing up thinking your life wasn't supposed to be took a toll on a kid. Though her parents tried their best, it wasn't exactly something they could sweep under the carpet. After all, all she had to do was look out the window.

" _Years ago, I gave up. You know that. I said it couldn't be done. You were…God, you were seventeen then. I remember so clearly, you gave me this look, like who is this asshole giving up on his work? That's not my dad._

" _Well, partially. I've always been an asshole, just usually a stubborn one instead."_

Morgan laughed, wiping a tear from her eye. He must have recorded the message months before his death, because he hardly sounded this way before the end. The cancer had taken a toll on him. Of course, it had been cancer. All the crazy shit he had been through in his life, and that disease had the audacity to take him from her.

His image smiled as if he knew exactly how she'd react, but faded quickly.

" _The truth is, it_ can _be done…because I did it."_

Morgan blinked.

What?

" _When you were about ten, I had a breakthrough of sorts,"_ he continued, picking at the material on his cane handle. _"I found the equation we needed, but after years of testing, it became abundantly clear that no one would be able to do this._

" _Except you, kid."_

Morgan grabbed the nearest stool, dragging it over so she could sit. She remembered the day he stopped vividly; she had actually argued with him about it. There she was, Morgan Stark, the only kid in history who was upset that her father was about to be doing less work and spending more time with her. But she hadn't been an idiot. There were days that she knew his work was the only thing keeping him going. He had slumps, just like everyone else, and she was afraid that if he stopped, she would actually lose him.

But she hadn't. He dedicated himself to other work. Improved power grids, self-reliant structures, auto-piloted farm vehicles, anything to ease the burden that had been put on the people left in the world.

Anything that had nothing to do with the military.

He and her mother had been vocal critics of the continued military state their country was in, despite the years that had passed and the stabilization of the economy. It had put him at odds with Rhodey on multiple occasions, though they both had points and only wanted the best for everyone. It seemed the world had become far less likely to compromise in the wake of everything.

" _And that's the real reason I stopped. This was supposed to be my mission, my burden, no one else's, especially not you."_

The image of her father paused as he wiped his face. He was beginning to cry.

" _I am your father and I am supposed to protect you, not ask you to leave everything you know because I screwed up! But that's how it works, isn't it, kid? Your dad makes a mess, and everyone else has to clean up after him."_

Her father took a seat on the very stool she was using now. Somehow it made her feel lonelier.

" _So, I shelved it, tried to forget about it and make do with what we have. It's not a perfect world, but it has you, so clearly something has gone right in this mess._

" _But you know me, kid, I can't ever let anything go completely. Seriously, you better tell everyone at my funeral that I beat Clint fair and square in that Monopoly match. It's not my fault his addition skills rival that of a five-year-old."_

He had known he was going to die. Maybe it was just after he found out; maybe it was before he even told them.

" _You're an adult now, after all, and far more capable of making good decisions than I ever was at your age, or even at my age._

" _So, I am leaving you everything, all the information you need, the equations, lists of materials you require, and most importantly, a detailed description of the events leading up to the Decimation. Maybe I'm a coward for not wanting to tell you this in person, but what father wants to tell their daughter that to save the world, they might have to die?"_

Tony paused, taking long, deep breaths. Then he looked up, and Morgan could have sworn he was actually staring at her, his eyes pleading.

" _Morgan, do not do this because you feel an obligation to me or your mother. Don't do this for Clint or Rhodey or Natasha. Don't do this for Nathaniel. Forget about us. We don't matter._

" _Only go through with this if you think the world has no other choice."_

* * *

 _The Sanctum Sanctorum  
_ _2017_

Unusual wasn't a word he took lightly anymore.

After his training at Kamar-Taj, and the subsequent events involving a crazy, homicidal sorcerer and an inter-dimensional, world-consuming being, Stephen Strange was almost positive that he could never use that word properly again. The same went for weird, outlandish, peculiar, and strange – not that he used that one often. His normal was something that most people would never have the capacity to comprehend, so it almost felt wrong to dare to say that there was something he would actually qualify as abnormal.

Yet when he saw Wong running into the sanctum, face etched with worry, that was the only word he could think of.

Unusual.

"Stephen," the monk huffed when he stopped in front of him. "You need to return to Kamar-Taj."

"Has something happened? Was there an attack?"

They'd lost track of Mordo months ago, and after getting wind of what had happened to Jonathan Pangborn, the order had been on high alert. But aside from the occasional missing sorcerer, there hadn't been a sign of their former friend. Stephen didn't think he'd ever attack the monastery directly, but he hadn't thought the man would abandon them either, so it really showed what he knew about people.

"No. The Eye of Agamotto, it's…doing something."

By doing something, Wong meant that the eye itself had opened and the stone within had begun to emit a high-pitched sound, like something was causing it physical harm.

"You should really get a phone," Stephen said as he gently placed his hands near the eye, avoiding touching it for the time being. Magic rolled off the amulet in waves, powerful, actually physically pushing his hands back with every pulse. There was something wrong about the sensation. It felt almost…corrupted.

"We are literally standing in front of an ancient portal that leads directly to the sanctum."

"And yet, a phone call would have been faster."

"Have you tried the service up here? Magic can only go so far, my friend."

Stephen eyed the monk before returning his focus to the Eye. "It must be reacting to some kind of external interference. Has anyone been in here recently?"

"Only me. Everything was quiet up until the Eye opened."

He sighed. "I'm going to try something."

Concentrating, Stephen began to focus on the world around him, and then beyond, conjuring the energy needed to create the spell. His shaking hands felt the power grow around them, steadying them only briefly as orange glyphs burst around his fingertips. He drew a circle around the eye, watching as the spell appeared around it, the language of magic.

Wong looked over his work. "A tracking spell?"

"It's the best I could think of on short notice."

There was a spark, then a burst of light shot up toward the globe overhead, landing squarely on a familiar patch of land.

Stephen sighed. "Of course it's in New York. Where else would it be?"

Gingerly, he grabbed the Eye, half believing it would burn him in some way, but despite the ever-present sounds emanating from it, the amulet was cool to the touch and utterly motionless.

Wong regarded him carefully. Not that long ago, Stephen had admitted he wasn't ready to be the guardian of the Time Stone. Deciding to wear it again when it might actually be dangerous to was certainly not one of his more intelligent plans, but he had always been a fan of improvising.

They returned to the Sanctum, listening as the shrill increased as it moved closer to whatever was causing the disturbance. Stephen winced slightly as Wong performed a small spell of his own. Suddenly, the world was quieter, as if they had fallen underwater.

He nodded in thanks.

Using the tracking spell already in place, Stephen brought out his sling ring. If he could get a lock on the disturbance, he could bring it here, and hopefully put a stop to whatever it was they were doing. If it was enough to affect an Infinity Stone, clearly it had no place in their reality.

This was what the Ancient One had chosen him for, after all.

It took a while for Stephen to catch up to the entity. Their presence was scattered, the spell losing and finding them over and over again. An aftereffect perhaps, or a spell of their own making. It could have been anyone or anything out there, and they had to be prepared.

Despite this, when a redheaded woman dropped from the gateway onto their couch, Stephen found himself surprised. He hadn't really expected anything terribly outlandish, but he also didn't think that the cause of all this trouble was going to look like a random civilian plucked from the street.

But when she looked at them, angry instead of confused, her body briefly poised for a fight, Stephen knew. This was who they wanted.

Also the fact that the Time Stone fell silent as soon as she entered the room was a dead giveaway.

Wong released his spell, and the sounds of the world returned.

"I'm going to ask you this one time," Stephen said, walking toward the woman. "What are you doing here?"

The woman did not reply. Her gaze was fixed on the Time Stone, its glow casting a green light on her face.

With a wave of his hands, the Eye of Agamotto shut once again, and the woman was forced to concentrate on him once more.

"Let me be more specific," he continued. "What are you doing in this time?"

Again, he had no right to call anything unusual, including the fact that this did not seem to faze him.

Her blue eyes widened slightly, briefly, before a mask of calm fell over her face again. She stood slowly, dusting off her jacket. The couch she had landed on groaned. Wong would be giving him crap for that later.

"You figured that out quickly," the woman replied, tone even, unsurprised. How pragmatic of her.

"Well, the Time Stone doesn't tend to lie." Stephen ignored the terrified expression on Wong's face. He had a gut feeling, and that was rarely wrong. "You know about it, don't you?"

Her blue eyes regarded him briefly before looking to the floor. "I do."

"How?"

"You know I can't tell you that, Doctor Strange."

Dealing with the fantastical was something he did on a daily basis, and yet people knowing his name when they shouldn't have still managed to send a small chill up his spine.

"It seems you have me at a disadvantage, Miss…"

"Park. Morgan Park."

He doubted that.

"Well, Miss Park, if you're trying to be so secretive about this whole thing, then why divulge that you know who I am?"

The woman, Morgan, looked between him and Wong, debating.

"Because I want to be frank with you. I'm on your side."

Stephen couldn't help himself. He chuckled at the idea.

"My side is keeping the fabric of this reality intact, which I can guarantee isn't the one you are on, elsewise you wouldn't be here," he turned away from her, striding around the entryway. "You're from the future, correct? Of course you are, because where else would you come from? No one else has the capability of traveling without the stone, and anyone who has the stone knows the dangers of tampering with the delicate balance of time."

Morgan crossed her arms. "You didn't seem to share that sentiment in Hong Kong."

Stephen froze in place, looking back to Morgan. She was staring at him, head on, challenging. No one from the Hong Kong civilian population remembered that fight; no one could have. It both did and did not happen with the actions of the Time Stone. They would have seen strangely dressed people, but it was Hong Kong. Just like New York, that was hardly out of the ordinary.

She could not have been there; she could not have known.

Unless…

"How do you know that?" Wong asked, finding his voice again.

Morgan looked to him, and paused longer than he was comfortable with.

"A friend told me," she said quietly.

"Who?"

She gave him a sympathetic smile. They both knew she couldn't tell him that either.

Her eyes met his again. "Our reality shouldn't be here right now. I know that, and you know that. You used the Time Stone to stop the destruction in Hong Kong, to reverse what had been done and give our world a second chance.

"You broke the rules that you regard as sacred, because those rules would have allowed everyone here to die. And I am here to tell you that this situation is no different."

"And what is this situation?" he asked.

This was the test, the one that she needed to pass. They were fortunate to have found her. Knowledge of the future was a powerful thing. The Ancient One had possessed that, but kept her stories vague, unable to change anything before they occurred. No dates, no specifics, just ideas that could hardly affect anything.

He and Wong, and the others from Kamar-Taj, were bound to follow these rules. Knowledge could not always be acted upon. Were she to divulge anything that may present a change, something that would effect the outcome of said event, they could prevent that from happening, could prevent others from knowing, and most importantly, they could go about their lives as if it were not about to happen.

They had to.

For the first time since she landed in the sanctum, Morgan looked unsure of herself. Her shoulders slumped and her face fell. Quietly, she walked over to the staircase, and sat on the lower steps. She ran her face through her hands and sighed.

"The death of trillions, maybe more."

Stephen was distinctly aware of his hands shaking at that moment.

She hadn't said when. It could have been tomorrow or one hundred years from then. She hadn't said how or why or what did it, which meant she was aware of the consequences of specifics as well. He could at least give her that much credit.

"I'm sorry," he said after a while, thoughts drifting to Metro-General. "But there is nothing you can do about it."

Morgan shot up. "What?"

"We are the guardians of this reality, and what has happened is not something we are here to fix."

"But Hong Kong-"

"Was already doomed," Stephen countered before she got the chance. "Dormammu had won and every single life form was facing an eternity of a fate worse than death. But you are here, and, I presume, others survive as well. There is something beyond whatever is going to happen, and while you may not like it, it exists, and it has to stay."

Morgan shook her head. He could have sworn she was on the verge of tears.

So much for pragmatic.

"It can't stay."

"It has to."

"I won't let that happen."

Stephen sighed. He knew it would come to this.

"Alright then."

With a wave of his hand, another gateway opened behind Morgan.

The anger he saw in her eyes then was something he'd never seen before.

"Don't you dare!"

When she tried to lunge at him, the gateway sprang forward, swallowing her up and closing before she could touch him, leaving them alone.

Wong stepped beside him. "You certainly have a way with women."

Stephen rolled his eyes. "Says the celibate monk."

* * *

Morgan slammed into a wall, picturing her fists wiping that smug look off Stephen Strange's face.

In one of her many briefings she had been given about the past, the interference of Doctor Strange, or any one of the numerous sorcerers that the world apparently had, was pressed upon her as one of her more important and likely outcomes. The very act of traveling back in time to change the past was what he was supposed to stop people from doing. Her presence would neither be welcome nor tolerated, and he had shown her just as much.

Her father, in all his reluctance, had admitted in his notes that the reason he did not get along with Strange was because he was too much like him: brilliant, arrogant, rarely believing himself to be in the wrong, along with having a terrible sense of humor. Morgan knew from the get go that she could not lie to the man, and would have to tell him as much as she could without compromising the future. He was sensible – to an extent – and would listen to her, especially with the backing of her knowledge on him, or so she had been told. To be honest, she had not expected the man to find her so quickly.

But clearly nothing was going to go the way she wanted.

Morgan shouted, kicking the wall.

She'd been transported to a simple room with a neatly made bed and dresser. There was a closet in the far wall, and an adjacent bathroom. One small window gave way to a view of the city street below, though no noise made its way through the glass. More magic, she guessed.

' _I don't suppose we had a plan b for any of this,'_ DAVE chimed in uselessly.

"For magic? No," Morgan admitted, making her way to the door. She half expected the room to be locked, but when she tugged on the handle, she found herself staring into a hallway.

It was not going to be that easy – she knew it – but she had to try. She had not come this far to be stopped by some man in a cape.

Single windows sat on each end of the hallway, the walls lined with multiple, similar doors. Nothing distinguished them from the other. There were no sounds to indicate what may have been on the other side of them. She could not even make out a possible staircase nearby.

So, Morgan tried the first door across from her. It opened to a room very similar to her own. She tried the next door, and the next, and found the outcome to be the same. It was only when she took a closer look at the windows that she realized the view had never changed.

Somehow, each room she was entering was the same one.

 _Freaking. Magic._

"DAVE, I don't suppose you can get a reading on any of this?"

' _Sorry, kid, I wasn't programed with magical algorithms. Try yelling bippity boppity boo once.'_

Morgan rolled her eyes. It really was like her dad was in the room, unnecessary humor and all.

She kept opening door after door, clinging to the hope that one of the rooms might actually change. But nothing did.

When she stepped inside the last room, she barely suppressed a scream. Once Morgan composed herself, she opened the door again, only to find herself staring into the same room. The hallway had completely disappeared.

Her tiny world had just shrunk even more.

' _That's unfortunate.'_

"Shut up, DAVE."

Morgan made her way to the window, unlocking the frame and lifting. Dust blew into her face as air swarmed inside from the city. Suddenly, the noises of the outside world had returned. Cars, birds, people. It all seemed so easy.

Unwilling to give away everything about herself just yet, Morgan opted to just climb through and jump to the ground. She and Nate had done worse in their youth. A second story window was nothing to her. But when her right leg swung outside, she found her shoe coming into contact with the ground far sooner than she thought.

Suddenly, Morgan was staring at the room again, while the outside world had suddenly opened up to her left leg. When her head tried to move through to that side, her right leg was once again outside. No matter how hard she tried or how fast she moved, Morgan found herself right back in that room.

"Son of a bitch!" Morgan shouted, giving up and climbing back inside entirely.

Time travel. Aliens. People disappearing because of some colorful stones. All those things in her life she had come to accept and figure out, but now she was about to lose her mind because an overpowered magician was playing games with her.

' _What now, kid?'_

That was the question, wasn't it?

Morgan sat on the bed, resting her head on her hands and thinking.

Certainly, she could wait and see if Doctor Strange would return and ask her any questions. She could wait and see if he was willing to give her a second chance to explain herself, but some not so small part of her doubted he was willing to do such a thing. From his perspective, it would be too big of a risk, too much.

But if she escaped, what then? He had found her before; he certainly would have no trouble doing so again.

But maybe that was the point. It wasn't about escaping; it was about showing him that she was not willing to stop.

Violent protestation. She had grown familiar with it in her youth. When the government cracked down hard on the people, the people had fought back. She had been at one of those protests once, and just barely escaped being arrested. In her mind, Morgan could still clearly picture the looks on her parents' faces. Nate's too. He had been there that day as well, only on the wrong side.

Morgan took a deep breath, clearing her mind.

"We'll just have to take a page out of Uncle Clint's book."

' _Which is what, again?'_

"When you're losing at someone else's game, don't be afraid to flip the board."

'… _is that a reference to the Monopoly match?'_

Morgan said nothing as she stood again, looking at the wall instead of the window as her new target. She brought her right hand up, watching as the nanites formed a metallic glove across her skin. Green and silver armor ran its way up to her elbow, not form fitting, but thick, military grade. Her father's old armor housed only a fraction of the nanites hers did.

She heard the familiar whine of the Mark series' repulsors warming up.

"Out-magic this, douchebag."

With one shot, half the wall blew away, sending bits of brick and wood into the street below.

Morgan didn't hesitate, running into the open air as the suit formed around the rest of her body, allowing her to fly into the open sky and far away from the sanctum.

* * *

The population of New York City was used to seeing many things. Admittedly, when aliens started pouring from the sky a few years ago, that certainly topped the list. However, afterward, that just meant that everything they had previously considered strange was run of the mill. They ignored things that would make most people stop and stare. Too much happened in the city for them to get hung up on. You'd never make it more than a few blocks a day otherwise.

So, when some man came stumbling out of an alleyway, most paid him no mind. People were drunk and ambling around any day of the week and any time of the day. It was better to ignore them. You make eye contact, they're bound to follow you.

When he stumbled through the crowd, most swerved away from him. So, he was really drunk, and would be picked up by the cops in no time.

When he grabbed a woman, she screamed, and the man next to her shoved him away.

The man fell into the wall, and some eyes turned his way.

He coughed and blood began to pour from his mouth. More eyes turned.

His hand grasped at his throat and chest, as he made choking noises. He fell to the ground and began to convulse, the blood from his mouth bubbling. Suddenly, an effort was made to care as people surrounded him. Shouts were made to call 911. Some attempted to turn the man over. Others simply watched, stunned. Meanwhile, most continued to walk on their way.

What were they supposed to do anyway?

How could they have known the danger that this dying man represented?

* * *

Things are happening! We'll get more time discussion in the next chapter, as well as more insight as to who this mysterious person is.

Thanks again! See you next time!


	4. Broken

Let me just immensely apologize for the delay. There is no excuse, and if you are still here, you are wonderful, kind people that I don't deserve. And actually, I'd like to thank the guest who said this story was dead. It's not to mock you. It just really helped motivate me. So thank you.

To anyone new to this story, I thought of this before Endgame, so try not to make comparisons between my Morgan and Endgame's Morgan. I guess I'm just really good at predicting what the Russos were going to do.

Anyway, thanks for returning! Shall we?

* * *

 **Chapter Three  
** Broken

 _New York City  
_ _Post-Decimation_

"C'mon, Nate!"

Morgan scrambled over the cracked stone pillars of a half demolished building. She had no idea what it was – the architecture looked nothing like most of the buildings in Manhattan – but was eagerly looking forward to finding out. That was if Nathaniel Pietro Barton would move his butt already. He'd been dragging his feet the entire trip and it was starting to get on her nerves.

She turned back to him, still standing at the bottom of the steps, or what was left of them anyway. Like a few of the buildings they had been around, this one had been the victim of a downed plane. It had skidded over the top, sending bits of roof and stone across the street, and crashed somewhere in Central Park, leaving a smoldering trail of destruction in its wake. A fire had broken out inside afterwards. Morgan could still see all the old burn marks.

"You know, maybe we should just head back!" her friend called out.

Nate's back was to her as he looked down the street across from them. They were well within the Dead Zone – which was what they had taken to calling uninhabited sectors of the city – and that usually meant they were alone, with the exception of a stray dog or two. Sometimes deer ate the grass that had begun to grow on the streets, but that wasn't often. Still, her friend was looking around like they were being followed. He never used to be so paranoid.

Morgan slipped her thumbs through the loops in her jeans. "I thought boys were predisposed to dangerous thrill-seeking, or does that switch flip off when you hit eighteen?"

At fourteen – going on fifteen thank you very much – Morgan was often told that she didn't act like a girl should at her age, which really wasn't helpful. Nate was the only friend she had even remotely close to her age, otherwise she hung out with two assassins, an Air Force general, and her parents, one of whom was a techno genius while the other was the public face for virtually everything else. Normal for her was waking up at four in the morning to make sure her dad had gone to bed, then bypassing the security on the tower with Nate so they could explore the city that their parents refused to show them; normal was getting military escorts any time they actually did leave because some people still blamed her dad for what happened and would try to kill him.

They'd almost succeeded once.

So, no, she didn't want to be normal, whatever that meant.

Nate turned to her, rolling his eyes. He was wearing his dad's old leather jacket. It was two sizes too big for him – because he was the size of a twig – and made him look like an overgrown baby. But he liked to pretend it made him look cool and mysterious or something stupid like that. She'd told Uncle Clint that much and when Nate found out, he had stopped talking to her for a week.

He ran up after her, leaping over the broken pillars like the simplicity of the act bored him; he always had been better at climbing than her.

"Alright, then, let's get going," he mumbled, shooting past her and into the building. The doorway was blocked by debris, which was fine because the outer wall had a giant hole in it anyway.

Morgan smiled and jogged after him. Nothing like a challenge to his pride to make him go her way.

Despite the caved in roof and ruined pieces of granite littering the ground, Morgan had to admit there was something picturesque about the scene before them. Sun filtered through the holes and cracks, and the dust kicked up by their boots gave the area an otherworldly glow.

It may as well have been another world to them.

"What do you think it was?" Morgan asked as they walked further inside, steps slow and respectful, as one might walk through a cemetery. All the world was a graveyard, after all. Everywhere they had ever been was probably where someone spent their last moments, completely unaware.

She had asked Nate if he remembered anything from that day. He had said something about hot dogs, but that was it. If it weren't for the pictures his dad kept, her friend admitted he wouldn't remember the rest of his family.

Nate shrugged. "Museum maybe? Too small to be a train station."

Her curiosity only increased by Nate's observation, Morgan began to search the area, though there wasn't much to speak of. Piles of dust and broken things, trash and remnants of animal activity. She thought she saw a face.

Rolling up her sleeve, Morgan reached for the small watch on her wrist. A few taps with her finger and the device unfurled itself. The straps had become tiny legs while the watch face opened and turned into a rotor. When the device began to hover in the air, a small projector lit up on the side, scanning the area with a green light.

"Where are we, TIM?" Morgan asked the device, watching as it swept the room over in detail.

"TIM?" Nate asked, turning his gaze away from the hole in the ceiling.

"Tiny. Info. Watch," Morgan replied, picking up the broken face to examine it closely. "Dad stopped making creative names years ago."

"But that's a double – wait, did he just flip the letter upside down to make an M?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Riiight."

Nate used to think the things her dad did were hilarious. He used to think that about a lot of things, but nowadays she could barely get him to crack a smile. She wanted to ask, but she also didn't want to argue. It had taken a lot of convincing to even get him to come out that morning.

TIM beeped, bringing an end to the silence. With the scan complete, the little drone flew to the center of the room and straight up. Moments later, it projected a completed image of the building they were in, mapping against every surface. Suddenly, the ceiling was no longer caved in, but covered in glass, the holes in the walls were repaired, and the destroyed statues had righted themselves, to include the bust she held in her hands.

The drone her father had given her did not have audio capability – minus certain bells and whistles for errors – so the phrase 'The Metropolitan Museum of Art – 2018' was transcribed onto the wall.

"Oh, the Met!" Morgan shouted, smiling. "Mom told me about this place once. She said Dad almost bought it just to prove a point, but she convinced him not to."

She quickly looked back to the broken face in her hands. The projection reformed itself to make it appear as if she was carrying the entire thing. To the side, a little messaged typed itself out: Constantine I, Emperor of Rome.

"Cool."

"Yeah, I guess it's pretty neat," Nate said, roaming the area. He tried to sound neutral about the whole thing, but Morgan could see that spark in his eyes. He looked a little more like her friend in that moment. "Too bad it won't look like this again."

"Why not?" Morgan asked, taking a look at the other statues around the area. TIM continued to list off the names and histories of each piece. They were all Roman and Greek. "It's just a building. Those are easy to fix."

"Besides the fact half of these things are completely destroyed?" Nate countered, swiping his hand across one of the projections. The image wavered slightly. "It's just stuff. No one has any use for it."

"Art is a signature of civilization," Morgan replied matter-of-factly, quoting some line she had read somewhere once and using that tone of voice her father called 'smartass snark.' According to him, it ran in the family, and she had been blessed with it as well. Her mother liked to use cursed instead.

"Does this look like a civilization to you!?"

Nate's voice echoed through the open space, booming as it bounced off the walls. Morgan actually gasped at that, hugging the stone bust to her.

Her friend deflated. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted like that."

"You're damn right, you shouldn't have!" Morgan yelled back, ignoring the stern voice of her mother in the back of her head. "What's going on with you, Nate? You barely talk to me anymore, you never want to do anything. Sometimes you act like I don't exist!"

Nate ran a hand through his hair, just like Uncle Clint did. "It's not that simple."

"I don't care how simple it is or isn't, Nate! I want to know why my _only_ friend is abandoning me!"

He threw his hands down in frustration. "I joined the army, okay!"

Morgan blinked. That wasn't the answer she had been expecting.

"What?"

The look on his face said he regretted it. But it was too late now.

"Look, it's not like you haven't seen it coming…"

"How could I have?" Morgan asked, gripping the piece of marble in her arms tighter. It seemed like the only thing that wasn't going to leave her. "Dad jumped through a lot of hoops to make sure you were exempted from the draft."

"And I'm grateful that he-"

"If you were grateful, you wouldn't be throwing it in his face," she said, cutting him off. Her voice had grown smaller, sadder.

Nate sighed, letting the silence hang a moment before he began to walk toward her, hands in his pockets. He stopped maybe a foot away, but Morgan kept her gaze down, looking at his boots. His stupid _combat_ boots.

"Morgan, I'm not you," he said softly, gently, ripping the bandage off as slowly as he could. "I don't have an IQ of six thousand or whatever. I don't have any business skills or tech skills, hell I can't even play an instrument. You're going somewhere, and that's great, but I don't want to sit by and watch from the sidelines."

"Going to war and getting yourself killed isn't a better option, Nate."

"I'd like to think of it as protecting the people who are going to save the world," he replied, bumping her shoulder lightly. "That means you too, weirdo."

Morgan looked up at her friend. He was smiling slightly and looked at ease, more so than he had in weeks, months even. Here he was, ready to go die over some stupid border dispute and he looked more comfortable with it than he had with her.

She hated it.

"No," Morgan said firmly. She turned away from him, walking deeper into the museum. The simulation snapped off and TIM returned promptly to her wrist.

"Morgan, what are you doing?" she heard him ask. His footsteps trailed after her, so she picked up the pace. "Morgan!"

She ran.

Jumping over rubble and sidestepping building cave-ins, Morgan went deeper and deeper into the building. She passed room upon room of old art, some intact, most destroyed by the Decimation or just time itself. Maybe it didn't matter, maybe nothing mattered, how could it when everything she had was going to disappear anyway?

When she came to what appeared to be a dead end, Morgan ground to a halt. She stared at the partially blocked doorway in front of her, listening to the approaching footfalls of Nate. But she didn't want to face him again, somehow that would acknowledge that he was leaving, and she had no intention of doing that. So, she took a breath and began to wiggle through the small crack between the door and the rubble, gently placing the bust inside before she did so.

Pieces of rubble – small ones – tumbled around her as she shimmied through the gap, but she ignored them – and the sensation of her pants catching on everything – as she went through.

"Morgan!" Nate shouted, rounding the corner. "Morgan, it's not safe!"

She'd never seen him look so scared before. It made her pause.

Something cracked above her.

Without thinking, Morgan forced herself through, diving into the next room as the rubble caved in further, taking larger chunks of the ceiling with it. Curling up as small as possible, she held her head between her hands and waited for the debris to stop falling. A few pieces bounced off her body, but nothing heavy, nothing dangerous.

When the cave-in ceased, Nate's shouts were muffled.

"I'm okay!" Morgan cried out, coughing as dust enveloped the room. "I'm fine!"

Nate didn't stop shouting. She wasn't sure if he'd heard her, but she could hardly make out his words.

Sitting up, Morgan tried to look around the room, but the place was pitch black, all access to the outside blocked.

Tapping her wrist again, Morgan breathed a sigh of relief – and promptly coughed – as TIM came to life, lighting the area up as it began to scan her surroundings.

The bust had survived the collapse, and out of some sort of kinship with the object, Morgan grabbed it and stood.

Even with light, the room was dark, possibly from a fire. Morgan ran her fingers along the walls. Thick, black ash covered her skin. There were several broken frames in the area, their contents unrecognizable, damaged beyond repair.

"TIM?" she asked, moving toward what appeared to be the remnants of a bench. She sat down gently and watched the images reconstruct before her.

 _Autumn Rhythm (Number 30). Jackson Pollock._

Morgan found herself staring intently at the projection of the bizarre piece, getting lost in the colors and strokes.

She almost didn't notice the thuds on the other side of the wall. However, she did hear the louder pounding and the sound of lasers cutting into the building.

Light flooded the area immediately as a door sized section of the wall was pulled away, the frame braced by the familiar red alloy her father used on his suits. It was almost hilarious, given TIM's simulation was still running. Not a moment later, Tony Stark entered through the doorway, hand holding Nate back, the helmet of his Iron Man suit gone, and his face full of relief.

They stared at each other for a full minute.

"Morgan," he said quietly, voice slightly choked up. "What are you holding?"

She looked down at the broken bust in her hands. "Constantine."

"Right. Interesting choice." He sniffed. "FRIDAY, is this section of the building stable?"

' _Yes, Boss.'_

"Alright, send the kid home."

' _Right away.'_

The suit evaporated and quickly transferred itself to Nate. He barely got a 'hey what' out before the nanites completely covered him, flying him out of the area.

Her dad was in a sweatshirt. She always thought he looked strange in one.

They waited.

He held his hand out. "See, this is the part where you grovel for forgiveness. Maybe say something like 'thanks for saving my life, _dad_. I'd probably be dead if it weren't for you, _dad_. I'll never do something so stupid and reckless ever again, _dad._ "

Morgan shrugged. "You always say that I'm bad at lying and that I shouldn't bother."

Her father choked out a laugh. It sounded more like a sob.

She put the bust down and ran into his arms. Even without the suit, it felt like he might crush the life out of her, he was squeezing so hard. She could feel him plant a kiss on the top of her head. His lips were trembling. Or maybe she was.

"Morgan Maria Stark," he mumbled, definitely crying at this point. "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't."

"Clearly," her father replied, holding her out at arm's length. "Just another thing you get from me. All the intelligence in the world and not an ounce of sense."

She tried to smile. It didn't work.

"Why are you here, Morgan?"

She shrugged. "I was bored."

He gave her a look. It was a conversation they'd had numerous times over the years. She and Nate were constantly going to places they weren't supposed to, running out well past their curfews, occasionally getting caught by the police for trespassing. He could yell at her and he could ground her all he wanted, but it would never work. There was a world out there, and seeing it was worth every consequence.

"You could have been killed," her father said, the words not coming easily to him.

"I know."

"You could have gotten Nate killed."

"He's going to get killed anyway."

"What?"

Morgan bit her lip. She hadn't meant to say that. He had told her that in confidence, and now it was just out in the open. What a great friend she was, but it was too late to go back now.

"Nate. He joined the army. He's going to go to some stupid war and he's going to get killed."

Her father sighed, wiping his face. "So he told you."

"Wait, you knew?" Morgan asked, stepping back out of her father's grasp.

Now he looked like the one regretting saying something. "He, uh…came to use a couple weeks ago. Me, your mom, Clint, gave us a whole spiel about doing his part. Thought he was going to break out a powerpo-"

"He told you and not _me_. He told you _weeks_ ago and _not me!_ You knew this entire time and you didn't say anything?!"

"Hey!" her father shouted, straightening. "You do not get to be mad here! You do not get to run into the Exclusion Zone, nearly die, and get mad at _me_!"

"Then when do I get to be mad, Dad!?"

This stopped her father in his tracks. He looked confused, upset, worried.

"All my life, you and mom keep telling me that I should be thankful! Thankful for what? That I'm alive?" Morgan shrugged. "I sit in a building all day and stare out a window. I watch videos of what the world _used_ to be like while you talk about it like it's some kind of fantasy. That's not my world. My world is on fire. Everyone is dead and the cities are falling apart and the only friend I have is leaving to go get himself killed. But I should be _thankful_. The only thing I'm thankful for is that you're too busy trying to get back to your perfect past to notice that I sneak out all the time to see what world I have left!"

The silence was deafening.

Immediately, Morgan wanted to take it all back, grovel for forgiveness like her father suggested. It wasn't that she hated her life – okay, sometimes – but she just got frustrated. There was a world out there her parents were too scared to show her, and, no, it wasn't like the one they wanted her to grow up in, but it was the only one she had and she didn't want that to pass her by. She wanted to know that there were more than ten people in her life.

She didn't hate her father, and she didn't blame them, but sometimes that just wasn't enough.

Despite the urge to fix the problem she had just caused, Morgan remained silent, a small part of her defiance holding her hostage.

She watched her father's shoulders sag in defeat, watched him age right before her eyes as he shuffled across the broken room to sit on the bench.

"You're right," he said after a while. "I mean, you shouldn't be. I'm the parent, the _adult_ , which means I should know more and therefore never be wrong, but…not this time."

He gestured to the space, currently a brightly lit room filled with magnificent paintings. "This isn't your world."

With a snap of his fingers, the projection fizzled and TIM returned to her possession. The room darkened, and the charred remains of the museum felt closer than before.

"This is," he said with a sigh, hiding his face in his hands briefly. He looked so much smaller all of a sudden. "And your mother and I keep trying to hide it from you as if one day it'll all get better. But it's not…it's…what happened to us…we aren't going back. There is no going back to the way things were.

"When I was your age, I was at MIT," he continued, laughing softly. It sounded sad. "I don't think MIT even exists anymore.

"What do you want, Morgan? What do you get out of this?"

Morgan shrugged, not entirely sure if her father could see her do so. "I want to fix it. I see places like this one, and I want to rebuild them. I want to help people come home."

He stared at her for longer than she was comfortable with.

"God, kid, you are a much better person than I am."

Her father stood then, returning to her side. "Alright, say that we lower the restrictions, let you get out more – that's a big 'if' right there, don't look at me like that – you have to promise not to do anything this stupid ever again, and not complain about the tracking system I inject into your skin."

"Like TIM isn't already one?"

"That's besides the point. Do you agree?"

She was quiet a moment, watching her father. For once, she felt a little less fragile under his gaze. "Yeah, I do."

"Great," he replied, wrapping his arm around her and squeezing. The suit returned, standing in the entryway, open. "Oh, and don't worry about Nate. Clint has already insisted that we bug him with every kind of tracker known to man. He won't be able to sneeze without us knowing."

Morgan smiled slightly. "You let him wear the suit before me."

"That's because I'm not willing to let your mother murder me just yet."

* * *

 _New York City  
_ _2017_

The museum looked far more beautiful than the projections.

It felt so strange, returning to the Met and seeing it entirely intact. People walked the galleries, quietly, respectfully, taking in the artistry from over the centuries. Morgan felt like a child again, wandering through those halls. Every once in a while, she thought she heard Nate's voice. Once, she actually turned to reply to him.

She marveled at Constantine a moment, only slightly disappointed that she couldn't actually touch the piece. Her father had let her take the broken bust home, and it had followed her throughout the years, eventually settling in her office at the university. She worked in engineering, although her specialty was structural. There weren't many large-scale buildings on the Eastern Seaboard that didn't have Morgan Stark's seal of approval.

Eventually, she came to the Jackson Pollock painting and stopped. She couldn't even say how long she had been there. People had passed to her left and right, talking quietly about the features of _Autumn Rhythm_. Some even attempted to engage her, although she couldn't add much to the conversation besides the fact that she found calm in the chaos. Their long-winded opinions were lost on her.

Mostly, she waited.

Part of her had expected Doctor Strange to just open another portal and drop her right back to where she had been. She hadn't been able to relax for nearly an hour since she took off, waiting for that fall, bracing for the drop, but nothing ever came.

So, she settled in, keeping as still as possible to let him find her.

Another twenty minutes passed before a tall figure came to a halt beside her.

"The Sanctum Sanctorum is over one hundred fifty years old, filled with invaluable items of the occult that in the hands of anyone else could cause utter devastation to mankind, and you just blew a hole in it."

"Are you going to convince me that you didn't just fix it with the Time Stone, Doctor?"

She glanced his way, noting that he had obviously changed. The people of New York City may not have noticed much, but museum security would definitely not take kindly to a man walking inside dressed like some cartoon. He'd put on slacks and a suit jacket.

Taking DAVE's advice, Morgan had changed as well. Still jeans and a jacket, but they were actual fabric this time.

"You think I don't know Stark technology, Miss _Park_?" Stephen continued, ignoring her question and turning to her. "We've been watching him for years, ever since he started playing one-man army. Tell me, are you actually here to save trillions of lives, or are you just out to save your father?"

She blinked, and met his gaze. So much for that cover, not that it had been much of one. Like her father said, she wasn't built to lie.

"Our entire reality is at stake because you can't get over your daddy issues."

Morgan narrowed her eyes, feeling her hands clench into fists. The last time anyone had spoken to her that way, she'd laid them out on the floor with a solid left hook – training courtesy of Natasha Romanoff.

"I never used to understand why people cared for art so much," she said, taking the high road and turning away from Stephen. "Societies would go out of their way to preserve etchings on paper over potentially thousands of lives. I always thought to myself 'why would you do that? We have pictures of them. Just look at those.' But standing here, now, I think I can see it.

"The last time I stood in this building, it was a charred ruin in the middle of an unauthorized section of the city. Millions of people used to call it home, and it had been turned into a ghost town. Sometimes I would sit and watch the buildings collapse. It would shake the ground and make a rumble so loud, you could feel it in your bones. No one died from it; no one even knew it was happening, because no one was there. No one but me."

And Nate. It used to be their favorite thing to do. They'd have FRIDAY analyze buildings for structural weaknesses, and then they'd camp out. Day after day, they'd return to the same spot and wait. Eventually it always paid off, but eventually it stopped being exciting. Mostly, it made them sad.

But she wasn't here to talk about Nate.

"My father lived to be seventy-eight years old, Doctor, so you can take your psychological bullshit and shove it," Morgan continued, looking back to the sorcerer. "I am here because that reality you want to save isn't worth the effort."

"You don't get to decide what is or isn't worth it," he hissed, leaning close. Their conversation wasn't particularly loud, but there were certainly curious eyes looking their direction.

"Neither should a doctor who chose his patients based on how much media exposure he'd get."

They stood there, staring at one another, locked in a battle of wills. She was almost positive it would have ended with security intervention had a small buzzing not gone off in Stephen's pocket. The sorcerer sighed, grabbing the phone – a very old one – to check the name, gaze constantly drifting back to her as if she was going to dart off again.

"Christine, now is not – what?"

Morgan watched a look of shock cross his face, and was briefly concerned. If there was one thing she learned growing up, it's that when people like the Avengers became worried, something was wrong, _very_ wrong.

"I'm sorry, you think _I_ did this? What are his symptoms? His what?" Stephen turned to look at her, frowning. "No, I didn't, but I think I know what caused it. I'm heading over. Say the next thirty seconds? Yeah, that'll do."

He flipped the phone shut, grabbing Morgan's arm, and pulling her out of the exhibit before she could say anything.

"Where are we going?" she asked, wrenching her arm from his grasp, but choosing to accompany him anyway. Morgan knew she didn't have much choice, not if she didn't want any collateral.

"Metro-General. Looks like the ripple effect from your little adventure is already popping up."

They darted through the museum, dodging people and their confused looks, before Stephen pushed open the first door he found. It was to the ladies' restroom, of course, and they found themselves staring down an elderly woman attempting to wash her hands.

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said casually, continuing to walk inside. "We'll be out of the way in a moment."

"You'll what?"

The woman's question was clearly answered when Stephen took a ring from his pocket, placing it on his finger and quickly conjuring one of his portals. This elicited an immediate response from the woman in the form of a shriek and a panicked shuffle out of the bathroom.

"You have no right to complain about the ripple effect," Morgan said, watching the door slam shut.

"No one's going to believe her. Let's go," he replied, stepping through the portal.

Morgan sighed, telling herself that at least she was going through one of these willingly as she stepped through and found herself in a closet. Stephen quickly closed the portal, darkening the room and revealing someone on the other side: a woman with dark hair and a very wide-eyed expression.

"Yeah, there really is no getting used to that," she said, stepping toward Stephen. "Uh, who's this?"

"Morgan _Park_ ," he replied casually, removing the ring and replacing it in his pocket. "She's a lot like you, really. Likes to yell at me."

The woman, Christine, smiled at that, walking forward to offer her hand, adjusting her hold on the clipboard in her possession. "Well, in that case, Morgan, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," Morgan replied, glancing between the two. That was something that hadn't been in the files. "What's going on here? Doctor Strange seems to think it has something to do with me."

Christine gave Stephen a look – which he mirrored – before leading them out of the utility closet. "Well, unless you've mastered the art of organ harvesting in your spare time, I doubt you had anything to do with this."

Morgan and Stephen followed the doctor as she took off down the hospital hallway. Nurses bounded from door to door, none paying much attention to the three people walking by. Although, she supposed not many of them would. This used to be his place of work, according to what she had read.

"The man showed up about an hour ago, but he died on the operating table," Christine continued, bringing them to an x-ray station. She flipped on the lightbox, grabbing an x-ray photo from a file and clipping it on. Morgan wasn't an expert on reading them, but even she could tell something was very off about the picture. "His right lung was completely gone."

Stephen leaned forward, examining the picture closely, eyes narrowed in concentration. Morgan, meanwhile, took a step back.

No. It couldn't be.

"Our John Doe was otherwise intact. Healthy, young, no ligature marks or even any cuts from a botched surgery. It's as if the tissue just stopped existing."

Morgan took a deep breath, covering her mouth with her hand. If they were here, if she was _followed_ , that meant something had gone wrong back home. That meant they had gotten through and everyone left behind…

 _Oh God…_

"You know what this is."

Morgan looked up to Stephen staring, no glaring, at her. The accusation in his gaze couldn't get past the hollow feeling in her gut, however.

"I do," was her quiet reply.

"You do?" Christine asked, looking between her and Stephen. "If that's the case, you need to tell us what's going on. We might have an outbreak on our hands."

Stephen turned to her. "Outbreak? What do you-"

"Doctor Palmer!"

The trio turned to a nurse running frantically in their direction.

"Doctor Palmer, the other John Doe is missing."

"What?!" Christine shouted, proceeding to run with the nurse. Morgan and Stephen followed, turning down a couple hallways before they ended up at an intensive care room with a single bed. The machines were blaring all sorts of noises, given everything had been disconnected from the patient, leaving an empty bed. "Tammy, call security. He can't have gotten far. He'll collapse before he makes it out of the building."

Stephen grabbed her arm before she could get away. "Christine, what is going on?"

"He came in two days ago. Half his intestinal tract is missing, along with part of his liver," she answered quickly, breaking free and running away with the nurse. "I'll be back! Just stay here!"

When she disappeared around the corner, Stephen grabbed Morgan's arm and dragged her into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"What did you do?" he asked, his voice stern and demanding. "Tell me what is happening before it spreads to others."

"It doesn't work like that," she replied, her voice small. She felt as if her entire high ground had just disappeared from under her feet. "It's not because of my travel. If they're here like this, it's because they came back in time too."

"And why are people following you?"

"Because something went wrong."

Morgan collapsed into the chair in the room, putting her head in her hands. Everyone she had left, Shuri, Bruce, her mother, they could all be gone. She was never going to see them again anyway, not in in the way she knew them, but the idea that they might be dead so soon after her departure, that was a guilt she could feel knotting itself in the pit of her stomach.

How could everything have gone so wrong?

What happened?

"I need you to tell me everything," Stephen said. His voice seemed gentler, though only by a fraction. "People are in danger."

He had no idea.

Morgan looked up, rapidly blinking away the tears. She took a breath, wondering where was best to start, when she looked over at the bed. Something about it seemed off to her.

"The sheets," she said, standing. Morgan grasped the bed rail, looking down at the empty mattress.

"What?"

"If John Doe walked out of here, the sheets and blankets would be disturbed, tossed out of the way," Morgan replied, looking back at him. "And wasn't the door shut when we came in?"

"Are you suggesting he just vanished into thin air?"

Despite the disbelieving tone, Stephen approached the bed, examining the undeniable proof. The blankets were still tucked in, not to mention both bed rails were still up, which meant the patient would have had to climb over them.

"I'm saying anything is possible," Morgan said, watching him for a moment. "Look, when it comes to time travel, there's a-"

A pale, screaming man suddenly appeared on the bed.

Morgan yelped, falling backwards onto the floor and raising her hand, quickly producing a gauntlet with a repulsor charged and ready to fire.

Doctor Strange had stepped back as well, a spell conjured on both hands, orange circles of light with odd script on each of them. The language of magic.

But the man did not attack, or even appear to notice their presence. He continued to cry out at the top of his lungs, flailing about the bed and shaking it until it seemed like it would tip over.

A moment passed, and then Stephen and Morgan were at the bed. She attempted to hold the man down – the gauntlet gone again – while he reattached the medical equipment.

"Sir, look at me!" she shouted, attempting to be heard over his screaming. Eventually, she just clapped her hand on his mouth to keep him quiet. "Sir, you're at the hospital. Nothing is going to happen to you."

It got him to quiet down, but his dark eyes were still full of fear. When they looked at her, that fear did not lessen in the least.

Yes, he knew who she was. That only confirmed her suspicions.

"Have you ever inserted an IV before?" Stephen asked suddenly. Morgan looked up at him. He held the needle in his shaking hand, looking ashamed. "I can't…I…"

Morgan nodded once, moving to his side of the bed. She – and really anyone her age – learned various skills that may come in handy, particularly in the medical and the trade fields. With a lack of specialists around, everyone had to know how to assist their neighbor as best they could should the need arise. A bit like soldiers in the field, only they weren't in the military, and they weren't at war.

Stephan grabbed a fresh needle and handed it to her. She popped off the cover, gently feeling out the vein in the man's arm. All the while, she felt his gaze on her, watching, waiting.

"Kill me," the man whispered.

"Believe me, I want to," Morgan replied, reinserting the IV drip. She wanted to let him bleed out, die screaming if he must. Doctor Strange had no idea who he was, but she knew. He and the others, they were the worst humanity had to offer, and deserved the misery they were receiving.

But she also wanted answers, and the truth mattered more.

His hand reached out suddenly, taking hold of her wrist in a vice-like grip. Stephen had his magic back up again, pointed at the man, but he didn't take notice.

"Please, kill me!" the man cried. "I don't want to go back!"

"Back where?" Stephen asked, not lowering the spells.

"There!" he shouted, releasing her hand. Morgan stood and stepped away. "It's there! It knows me! If I go back, it will take me! Please don't let it take me. Please. Please."

His words became quieter as the drugs started to take effect.

"Don't make me go back…it's there…the darkness…

"Don't…go back…

"Please…"

* * *

So, I accidentally turned this into a slightly horror story? I didn't mean to. Oops.


	5. The Only One

I swear, my perception of time is so wonky now. I was like 'surely it hasn't been that long since I updated.' Nope! Holidays, man.

Anywho, things are really heating up in this chapter! Also, there's more "science." I'm no scientist so please don't expect any accuracy toward...anything. I'm just a lowly fanfiction writer.

Thank you to all who reviewed, followed, favorited, and read! I appreciate it! (And one day I'll get my act together and get to properly replying - forgive me!)

Shall we?

* * *

 **Chapter Four  
** The Only One

 _Avengers Tower  
_ _Post-Decimation_

Clint Barton had never been much of a science guy. Now math, that he could do. Calculating windage, velocities, trajectories, or a simple 'will this fall put me in traction?' were things he could do in his sleep, but science was a beast he refused to tangle with.

One of his old STRIKE buddies had called science 'math with extra steps.' Well, some of those extra steps had turned Bruce Banner into the Hulk, so Clint was perfectly at ease with his place in the world.

Tony's inner sanctum was definitely not that place.

The – practically – reclusive scientist never let anyone into his lab these days, with the exception of Pepper and Morgan. Although, Clint had a sneaking suspicion that the latter wasn't allowed either, but rather the young girl had become the only human capable of charming an AI out of its programming.

Whenever he tried to enter – usually in search of said AI charmer – FRIDAY would just make that gameshow buzzer sound and state that the lab was for geniuses only.

(Well, joke's on Tony – his IQ was 170. And one day, he would shove that in his face.)

So, when both he and Natasha found themselves invited to Tony's lab, needless to say, all the alarms were going off in his head. The last time he'd been this close to his equipment, they had an Ultron situation on their hands, and that was the last thing they needed right now.

Clearly his counterpart thought the same because she had grabbed her gauntlets.

But there hadn't been anything to worry about. Tony was just standing in the middle of the chaotic vortex that qualified as his lab, staring at nothing in particular. To his right, however, was a rather suspicious looking contraption – not that the entire lab wasn't suspicious to Clint. Best he could describe it was a much larger and fancier version of those pneumatic tubes at the bank. There were a lot of wires involved, and a lot of monitors, and, for whatever reason, an orange.

Aside from that, there was random equipment everywhere – some functioning, others definitely not – papers scattered to the wind, enough random clothing for at least five full sets, and what might have been rotting fruit, but he wasn't going to ask.

And that was everything he could see from the doorway, because he and Nat had refused to step further inside.

"So, who goes first here?" Clint asked. "Been a while since we cleared a building. Can't remember who went last."

"You've been living with the man for nearly fifteen years," Nat pointed out, shaking her head. Her hair was long again, and black. He stopped asking what she was up to. Every time, it got a little worse. The world wasn't bouncing back as well as everyone hoped.

"Yeah, and that's fifteen years' worth of experience telling me to not be the first person in the room."

"Never took you for a coward."

"Accuse me of that _after_ you step inside."

"You know, I can hear you two."

Tony was pointing at them menacingly with his cane. He'd taken a bad hit in his suit nearly a year back and hadn't worn the thing since. All the technology in the world couldn't make up for getting old and losing reflexes.

He was hardly one to talk, being only a year younger, but he still trained every day; he wasn't about to be completely useless, no matter what age he was. It worried Nate, even though he wouldn't admit it. He'd seen the way his son flinched when something hit too hard. But he had to understand, everyone had to understand, without his body, Tony still had his brain, but Clint…

Well, he just needed his body.

"Old and feeble, but not hard of hearing," Tony continued, setting the cane back down. Must have been one of his harder days. He was leaning on it a little more than usual. "Now, would you please…"

Clint and Nat looked at one another. Tony never used the word please. This didn't exactly alleviate their concerns, but they did step inside at least – Natasha first, of course.

"Anything on this gonna blow me up?" Clint asked, gesturing to one of the lab tables. It was empty, for the most part, but ever since encountering Ant-Man, he'd been more than a little skittish about the possibility of unseen things in laboratories.

Tony blinked. "No, there's just some lab work and-"

In one swift movement, Clint leapt onto the table, legs dangling. He preferred it that way. Easier on his knees.

"- there he goes," Tony finished, glaring. "You're just showing off now."

"Try not to be jealous," Nat interjected, crossing her arms and looking between the boys. "He'll be there a while. You could hear his hip pop in Brooklyn."

"Traitor," he mumbled, not about to admit how right she was. Something definitely did not agree with what he just did.

"Old man."

"Okay, can we just focus?" Tony asked, silencing them. Even after all this time, it felt strange to hear him say that. Focusing had never been quite his thing. "I've got to talk to you about something."

"About the orange?" Nat asked, crossing her arms.

"Yes! No…well, kind of…look," Tony said, pausing. His whole demeanor changed in that moment. He was older now – they all were – but only now did he actually _look_ old. His ever-active intelligent spark usually tricked Clint's brain into ignoring the extra wrinkles and the very gray hair, but right now, Tony just looked _frail_ , and it did not sit well with him. "It's not exactly a secret what I've been working on all this time. A way to get back, a way to fix…"

He chose to gesture at everything rather than say it.

Clint felt himself taking a deep breath.

It had been a while since he'd returned to that place, but he felt his mind drifting there now. His home in Missouri, to that old farmhouse that he was never done fixing up. He was going to put a new coat of paint on it the next week once he got the ankle monitor off; he didn't trust Laura to get the paint herself, a fact she argued with daily.

'How can you get the wrong shade of white?' she'd ask.

Lila had been practicing her archery. She was more talented than he was at her age, but he'd make damn sure the agencies wouldn't get their claws in her. The only targets in her future were stationary. His little girl was destined for the Olympics.

Cooper was throwing a ball back and forth with Nate. He was patient with his little brother. A good kid through and through.

And Laura, _his_ Laura. She was making lunch, talking about putting mayonnaise on hot dogs like the madwoman she was, and God did he love her for it.

All he did was turn his head for one second.

Just _one_ second.

And they were just gone.

Except for Nate. He just stood there, confused, staring at the spot where his big brother had once been. He'd just thrown the ball to him. That was still there, along with the mitt.

Then he started crying.

He didn't stop for nearly a week.

Days turned into weeks, weeks to months, then years, and the realization that those who were gone would stay that way began to settle in him, in everyone. People began to move on, start new lives in the strange new world they found themselves in. Some remarried, children were born, new homes were built, but Clint couldn't do it. He couldn't move on. None of them could.

Everyone knew Tony was working on something, and for a while, they allowed themselves to hope. If any crazy scientist was going to figure it all out, it would be Tony Stark, but time passed on that as well, and still he had nothing to offer.

If it weren't for Nate – and then Morgan – he'd have been long gone too.

Sometimes, it had felt like he could still go that route.

Maybe that was the good thing about getting old. His body wasn't capable of doing those dark deeds anymore.

"It's been fifteen years, Tony," Clint said, calmly. He could feel Nat watching him. "You _can't_ fix it now."

Tony sighed, looking at him. For once, there wasn't a harsh quip from the scientist. His friend was merely looking at him, sympathetic.

"I know," he replied quietly. "But I wanted to tell you why."

With a small gesture of his hand, equations lit up on the wall. Clint could make out some of it – Nat probably understood a little more – but it was all far above his paygrade in the end.

Genius-level intellect or not, it still required him having studied it, and studies hadn't been a priority of his growing up.

Hell, Fury had to practically tie him to a chair to get him to do a briefing.

Nat stood a little straighter, her arms uncrossing. "Is this…"

"Yeah," Tony started, looking at them. He actually looked ashamed. "This is it. This is the answer to everything. I had what you could call a breakthrough five years ago, but I couldn't tell you about it."

"Why not?"

"Because of this."

Tony gestured to the overcomplicated tube Clint had been looking at earlier. He began to press a few keys at the station.

"This is a smaller scale version of what I would use to send someone back," he explained, fingers moving faster than even Clint could keep up with. How many times had he done this? "Long story short, it strips you down to mere atoms and shoots you through time and space at an accelerated rate."

Nat grimaced. "Sounds painful."

"I imagine it is," Tony replied, hitting one last key. "Especially after it's done."

The container began to hum, then whine. The space containing the orange lit so brightly that Clint had to look away while the lights and other equipment in the lab began to flicker and short out.

When the light faded and all fell silent again, the orange was gone.

And it stayed gone.

"Just give it a minute."

Clint waited, watching. Suddenly, he smelled citrus and noticed the orange sitting next to him, except it was no longer whole, but mushed, its contents liquified.

Slightly panicked by the fruit's sudden appearance, he hopped off the counter with a small, unmanly sound.

His hip popped again.

"Well, that is one of the problems," Tony said, walking to the remnants without any surprise at the results. "It never seems to land where you want it, although at least it stays in the area."

It explained the fruit Clint saw earlier, at least.

"But what happened to it?" Nat asked, eying the fruit warily. "That's not from hitting something. Its state completely different."

Tony nodded. "And that is the big one. It doesn't always happen, but more often than not, the process renders the subject's composition altered altogether."

"How?" Clint asked.

"Multiple reasons. I've tested all the theories – even made a few new ones of my own. The Stark Theory, the Potts Theory, the Morgan Algorithm, nothing for you two though, sorry.

"None of these could provide a solution," Tony continued, poking the orange with a stick he just happened to have. The fruit seemed to dissolve on contact. "Think of time travel as a pool of water. In order to get to where we want, we have to dive through it. Whenever you enter the water, no matter what you do, a piece of you gets left behind. A stray hair, dead skin cells, bodily fluid. Point is, you can't go through unchanged. Normally, that isn't a problem. Those are disposable things."

"But we're not going through the water whole," Nat said, catching on.

"Exactly. Suddenly, part of you being left behind is a problem. Maybe it's part of your genetic sequencing, which is what appears to have happened to our orange. Maybe something that makes up your hand is gone, or now you're suddenly blind.

"The point is, if a normal person goes through this, I cannot guarantee that they will be whole on the other side. Most likely, they won't be. They'd be maimed, dying…"

"Or already dead," Nat finished. Her voice had grown soft. "What about Steve or Bruce?"

"Never seen the Hulk regrow an arm. Hell, with our luck, somehow the process would actually remove the radiation," Tony replied. "And even if we could find Steve, his regenerative abilities aren't remotely fast enough."

Clint was quiet, barely listening to them talk back and forth about possibilities. Tony had suspected for years that Nat knew Steve's location and was refusing to give it up. Truth was, she didn't know, not anymore at least. She'd lost him somewhere in Estonia, and that had been nearly seven years ago.

But Clint suspected it was less losing and more of her letting him go.

He watched that sad little orange as they spoke, thinking.

And then it was all so obvious to him.

" _She_ can do it."

Tony and Nat fell silent, the former looking caught.

"Morgan would go if you asked her – she'd do anything if it meant bringing those people back," Clint continued, walking toward his friend. "We're not here because you're telling us you failed. You're asking for our permission to stop."

* * *

 _New York City  
_ _2017_

They'd been silent for several minutes, watching the nameless man as he slept on, completely unaware of their scrutiny.

The air around them was thick with Stephen's unasked questions, and she knew they would all come tumbling out shortly, so Morgan took a deep breath and allowed herself to enjoy what little peace she had left.

"Do you know him?" he asked, his voice strained. He stood in front of the doorway like she was going to bolt. She supposed it wasn't entirely uncalled for.

"No," she replied, monitoring the man's stats before sitting in the chair again. "But I know who he works for."

He didn't ask for her to elaborate – he didn't have to – but that didn't mean she couldn't take her time getting there.

She buried her head in her hands a moment, then looked at the hospital bed and sighed.

"They call themselves the Cult of Thanos," Morgan started, looking up at Stephen for a reaction. Most people laughed when they first heard it, her father included, but it didn't take long for the laughter to die. Doctor Strange, however, made no such error in judgment. "They're a bunch of religious fanatics who see the death of half the universe as a good thing, their salvation as it were. They were harmless at first, preaching about how our world was reborn and that we had to repent, typical religious gibberish. Then the fanaticism set in. People died over this."

Morgan paused, looking back at the man. How many had he killed, she wondered. Had any been people she knew?

Had it been _him_?

No. He was too young.

"Certain people around the world, powerful gangs or government officials, would use their ideology to justify their power. It became a cover for a militia, a roaming army of guns for hire, but there were still those who believed in it more than anything."

"And stepping back in time is one of their cardinal sins, I take it?"

Morgan shrugged. "Something like that."

"So, what, these people are here on some holy crusade to keep you from undoing their savior's work?" Stephen shook his head, beginning to pace around the room. "I'd say that sounds idiotic, but I took history class like everyone else. There's no limit to what people will do for their beliefs."

He looked contemplative a moment, but quickly shook it off, turning back to her.

"So, how did they get here?"

"I don't know," Morgan replied quietly.

They could have left ten minutes or ten years after she did. There was no way of telling, not without asking them, and they weren't exactly the cooperative sort. The problem was, if they weren't using the device she had – which should have been destroyed after her departure – then how did they get their hands on the plans? Had someone betrayed them? Had they stolen the plans?

Or had they just refused to destroy the machine after all, and set everything up for failure?

There were too many questions, and she had no way of answering any of them. Or fixing anything as a result.

She had to move on.

But Morgan knew she couldn't.

It was a family trait.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Stephen snapped, taking a step toward her. "You're all threatening our very existence. I need more than that."

Morgan stood, rising to the challenge. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, _Doctor_ , I'm here with you, not back there. I'm not gonna pull some answers out of my ass because you demand reassurance. They could have come from any place at any time. The problem is that they are here now, and we have no idea how many there are."

He sighed, hands clenching and unclenching. "Then at least answer me this: how are _you_ still in one piece?"

She hesitated.

There were gunshots.

The change was instantaneous. With a wave of his hands, Doctor Strange had assembled his unique garb over his previous, normal outfit. He quickly opened a portal, allowing his cape to fly in and settle on his shoulders. Morgan decided to file that information away for later as she activated gauntlets around her hands and arms.

No need for a full outfit, not yet. She did not need her father getting wind of this.

They stepped out into the hallway, Stephen activating some kind of spell around the door before they ran in the direction of the shots. Nurses and patients scurried past them, far too preoccupied with getting to safety to notice the peculiar individuals shooting past them.

The two slowed near a corner, where Stephen briefly peered around the other side.

"Those are incredibly well-armed zealots," he noted, turning back.

"I wasn't lying when I said they were a militia."

She pushed him aside, allowing herself a glance. There were about six of them, armed and armored to the teeth with all back outfits that covered even their faces. They would have had to bring nanotech too – none of their weapons existed in this time – and she had to wonder where they had gotten it from, though she had her suspicions.

In an adjacent hall, several nurses and doctors cowered, cut off from the stairwell on the other side by the attacking party. They were slowly making their way forward, stepping over a few bodies already, and would be on top of them in no time.

"But why attack like this? They risk damaging their future."

"No, they won't," Morgan replied, slowly slipping her hand around the corner. She watched as the small nanites scurried across the wall's surface, little rivers of technology streaming closer to the attackers. They quickly changed colors, reflecting the dull appearance of the hospital wall in an effort to remain hidden from sight.

"And how do you know that?"

"Thanos isn't from earth."

There were more gunshots, only they came from behind the two of them. Morgan found herself ducking as Stephen quickly turned and activated a spell, a giant, orange shield protecting them from the bullets as if it wasn't just air and light standing between them and their defeat.

Four more gunmen had approached. It seemed a lot had gotten through the process in one piece.

She wondered how many they had started with.

"You take them, I've got the others."

"Wait-"

"No time," Morgan said, rounding the corner. "DAVE!"

The nanites she had sent out activated, slamming a wall between the six gunmen and the hallway with civilians. She could hear their gunshots on the other side ricocheting off the surface. It would take something a lot more powerful than their peashooters to take care of that.

"Go! Get to the stairs!" Morgan shouted. The people didn't hesitate, fleeing the scene.

One of them was Christine, who stopped at the entrance.

"What do we do?" she asked.

"Don't let anyone up here, if you can."

"But the police…"

"Will die," Morgan said, cutting her off. "Now go."

Turning her back to the wall, Morgan felt the nanites wrap around her, fully forming her suit, the Mark CXV. She could hear the 'clang' of rounds deflecting off her armor as they attempted to stop her before she was ready, but, again, peashooters.

Her helmet snapped into place, bringing up instantaneous readings of the situation.

Morgan turned around, immediately firing her repulsor into the center of the group. All six men went flying through the air. One crashed through the window, falling however many stories to the ground. Two broke through the walls and did not appear able to get up again, leaving her with three men struggling to stand up again.

She flew forward and immediately punched one, rendering him unconscious, and probably with a broken jaw.

Bullets pinged off her shoulder. Morgan turned around, grabbing the rifle and breaking it in her grasp before headbutting the man who had fired it.

The third one took off down the hallway, running for a better position, but he couldn't outrun her repulsor. It crashed into his back, sending him flying down the hall an additional thirty feet before his head collided with a door as papers from the nurse's station went flying up all around the area.

 _It shouldn't be that easy,_ she thought to herself. _Why was it so easy?_

Movement out of the corner of her eye got Morgan's attention. She whipped around, arm up, repulsor whining and at the ready. A nurse in the room she had tossed a man in yelped, but didn't drop her phone as she was clearly recording the event.

"Oh my God, Iron Man!" she shouted, jumping. "When did you change your colors?"

"Lady, I'm not – would you just get out of here! What is wrong with-"

Something hit her armor. DAVE's systems quickly focused in on it. A small disk on her outstretched arm. Suddenly, it lit up, sending an electric pulse through her suit, and into her. Morgan screamed as she fell to the floor, her body spasming out of control for a few moments as the pain shot through her. The nanites began to destabilize, falling off her body, the armor completely coming undone.

The nurse screamed and ran away.

' _Systems…shutting down…rebooting…reboot-'_

Morgan looked up to see the barrel of a rifle pointed at her.

* * *

 _When she was sixteen years old, Morgan asked Natasha to teach her to defend herself._

 _She had thought it would be a struggle; she didn't have her father or her mother's permission. She hadn't even told Uncle Clint. This was something she had decided on her own, and she wasn't about to let anyone's overprotective nature get in the way of that._

 _But Natasha hadn't fought her on the subject. Instead, the former assassin shrugged and then proceeded to drop to the ground and kick her legs out from under her._

" _Lesson one, kid," she said, holding her hand out to her. "Never let your guard down."_

 _And that was that._

 _They would meet in the gym three times a week – if anyone in the building had any suspicions about why Natasha was around for longer than usual, they didn't voice them – and Morgan would practice on her own when she wasn't around. At first, she had been afraid that her father would walk in on them fighting. Her mother was too busy to be wandering around, but Tony would do so on occasion. He never had been one for standing still, but it quickly became apparent that her father never wandered near the gym. 'A natural aversion to it' was what Natasha called it._

 _Uncle Clint had wandered by once, took one look at Natasha putting her in a triangle hold, and walked away._

 _He hadn't said anything about it, but the last time he made dinner, he gave her grilled cheese cut into triangles._

 _One day, he'd figure out that he wasn't as funny as he thought he was._

 _Natasha was a harsh but fair teacher. She never took it easy, and accepted no excuses, but she knew Morgan's limits. The girl wasn't training for the KGB after all. She only needed little nudges past her comfort zone, not full-blown shoves._

" _You tell your parents yet?" Natasha asked one day. She sounded pretty casual given Morgan's arm was wrapped around her neck, which informed her that not only was she not doing it well enough, she was about to get her comeuppance for it._

" _No," Morgan admitted. Not long after, she felt Natasha's weight shift, and they were briefly airborne as the assassin flipped them. She managed to hold on even as all the air left her lungs as her back collided with the mats, but a quick elbow to her ribs took care of that. Her arms fell uselessly to the ground as Natasha stood up, free._

" _Why not?"_

" _I know them. They'll tell me to stop."_

" _Did you ever think that they'd only put an end to it because you didn't ask first?" Natasha asked, offering her hand._

" _No," Morgan replied, taking it. She let Natasha lift her about halfway up before sweeping her legs, but the assassin had been anticipating it. She leapt over her legs, leaving Morgan with her back to her, and quickly locked her arm under her chin._

" _Your eyes give away your moves," Natasha spoke in her ear as Morgan clamored for space between the assassin's arm and her neck. "Trust your body to know what to do. You don't need to see everything."_

 _Morgan shouted, flipping Natasha over her head. She moved quickly, not giving the woman a chance to recover as she straddled her, high up on the chest to give her as little movement as possible._

" _You didn't have to teach me. You also could have told them this whole time. You're the adult, aren't you?"_

 _Natasha smirked. "Well, maybe I don't like the idea of girls being left defenseless. I also don't like leaving things half-finished, and you've got a ways to go."_

 _At that, she rolled, putting Morgan on her back while Natasha's face was buried in her abdomen. Then, with ease, she picked her up and slammed her into the ground until her grip loosened. Both recovered quickly, darting to their separate ends of the mats, breathing hard, hair all over the place, but they both grinned at each other._

" _I'll tell your father after you know what you're doing."_

" _What about my mom?"_

 _Natasha shook her head. "Oh no, Pepper Potts scares me. I'm leaving her to you."_

 _Morgan laughed at that. It seemed to be the general mood in the building. Tony Stark, the actual Avenger, was harmless. Pepper Potts was not. Her father and Uncle Clint had made comments about her heels going somewhere they didn't like on more than one occasion._

" _Now, to change things up a bit," Natasha said, walking forward. Morgan braced herself for anything, but still didn't expect what the former assassin did._

 _From seemingly nowhere, she drew a gun._

" _Disarm me."_

* * *

Morgan grabbed the barrel of the rifle, shoving it upward. She could feel the vibration of the rounds as they fired through the chamber, the heat from the friction burning her palms, but ground her teeth through the pain as she held on tightly. Her leg came out from under her, tripping the man up. She pulled the rifle back as he fell, managing to wrench it from his grasp and toss it to the other end of the hall.

They both scrambled to their feet, facing each other down. There was nothing to help her anticipate his moves. His face was covered, after all, by what appeared to be little more than a biker helmet.

How original.

Morgan felt her eyes widen when he flicked a knife out.

He launched toward her, blade first. Morgan jumped out of its way. Once. Twice. By the third, she grabbed his wrist and redirected the knife into the wall. She brought her knee up into the helmet, then grabbed the back of it with her free hand and slammed his head into the wall over and over. She heard the helmet crack, and jumped back as his hand freed itself, knife only catching her jacket where her chest had once been.

She caught a glimpse of the face behind the helmet before the nanites repaired the damage.

He was missing an eye.

So they hadn't all come out unscathed.

They exchanged blows. She'd block with her forearm, he'd swipe with the blade, she'd duck. It went back and forth like that for some time, a repetitious dance that didn't seem to go anywhere. Working on the defensive was beginning to wear her down. She still wasn't recovered from the trip to this time, and had no idea how long these men had been here. They could have been just waiting for her.

Every once in a while, she'd see a magical blast at the other end of the hall.

At least Doctor Strange was still holding up, though it was clear that he wasn't expecting them to put up as much of a fight as they were.

They had encountered magic before, after all.

 _Probably should have mentioned that._

Eventually, Morgan got hold of the knife-wielding hand, twisting the wrist until she felt a satisfying snap, freeing the knife and leaving the man to scream in pain a moment.

She turned the knife around in her grasp and stabbed into his chest.

Only the knife fell out of – or rather through – her hand. It uselessly bounced to the ground, out of her reach and unable to help. Her hand rested halfway inside the man's chest, but she didn't feel anything.

Stunned, she pulled it back out. Her hand had become translucent in nature, allowing her to see glimpses of the floor on the other side. She couldn't feel anything, even when her fingers touched. It had gone cold.

 _Don't make me go back._

 _It's there…the darkness…_

Her hand became solid again.

Morgan just narrowly blocked a punch, before kicking out. This time, she did make contact, her boot colliding with his chest and knocking him back into the wall. Immediately, she followed, grabbing him before he could recover. She wrapped her arm around his neck and held, squeezing until his body went limp. Then she tossed him to the floor and turned, intending to check on Doctor Strange.

She was met with a knife slashing across her throat.

 _Lesson one, kid._

One of the men who crashed through a wall must have regained consciousness. She should have known better.

Her hands grasped her neck, pitifully attempting to hold everything together even as the blood began to pump from between her fingers. She fell to her knees, mouth opening and closing, but making no sound.

"The future must be preserved," the faceless man mumbled.

There was a burst of light and suddenly the man disappeared, dropping through a portal just beneath his feet. Through the window to her right, she saw another portal appear, and his screaming body disappear as he fell to the ground below.

Stephen appeared at the end of the hallway. He was holding a wound on his arm. Even from that distance, she could see his eyes widen at the sight. He came running – no, flying – over.

"Morgan!" he shouted, hands reaching out to help before stopping. There wasn't much he could do at that point. "Hang on. We can fix this. We'll just-"

She watched him begin to create another portal, but her hand shot out, stopping him.

"Wait," she croaked.

Confused, Stephen stopped his efforts, watching.

Slowly, Morgan removed her other hand. Her wound was still bleeding, but not as badly. It was healing quickly, as all her injuries always did, and she watched the doctor's eyes widen even further as he witnessed her skin stitch itself together.

"Can't get rid of me that easily, Doctor."

* * *

.

.

.

Dun dun dunnnnn

Also, yeah, Clint's farm is in Missouri? I never noticed apparently. And now I can't help but wonder if it's Peter Quill's old place cause that would be great.

Just an FYI to everyone, my Tumblr has changed from have-fun-storming-the-kastle to poe-tato-dameron (I know, I'm a creative genius). Just so no one freaks out over this random Star Wars weirdo. If you're new, feel free to drop by with an ask or a message. I'm so much better with answering on there (no follows necessary - I respond to anything).

Until next time!


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